The Jerk
by Tari Roo
Summary: AU: Life sucks when you're 16 and your big brother seems to have everything except time for his family. He's nothing but a great big jerk... right? Walking in another man's shoes sure opens your eyes, even when they are hidden behind a cowl.
1. Phonecall

My brother is a jerk, a dreg, a twip-faced loser who can't even make dinner once a month.

Jerk.

And the way kids at school still talk about him, like he was some God of Teen Rebellion when in truth he was barely awake through high school! But no – beat up a few jerks, save a few kids and stop Mad Stan from blowing up the school and suddenly you're a hero – that and getting the principal and countless counsellors fired. He's like some uber-legend and I swear the next time some twip asks me what's its like being 'Terry McGinnis' brother I am going to deck the dreg and maybe, just maybe, tell them the truth. That Terry McGinnis is a jerk, who barely has the balls to pick up the phone on your birthday and wish you happy 16th. That's my brother – absent Jerk Number 1 in my life. And it's not even like he was cool at school – bet you all his classmates still think he's a loser dreg, gang-wannabe. It's only the twips that I am stuck with who think he's the schwayest thing ever! Gag!

So what if his precious, all consuming job helps Mom out with the bills. So what if working for Wayne is like signing your soul over to Satan and becoming a minion of mindless paperwork and pointless errands. He's a jerk! I don't care if he sent me a schway classic Honda motorcycle that sent Mom into conniptions for the birthday he forgot – that just makes him a rich jerk! With excellent taste – can't fault him for that. Cool girlfriend in high school, a rep so schway it makes me sick and he drives this mega-schway convertible now… jerk.

Jerk, jerk, jerk, jerk, jerk……

Matt sighed and slowly deleted his essay. As he watched the last 'jerk' disappear, he sighed again. It wasn't so much the fact that he had to write an essay on his 'feelings' for the twip counsellor who thought he had anger issues, although it was that in part. What bugged him, what really made him mad was that he knew exactly why he was angry. There was no underlying issues – no subconscious dreg to work through. He was angry because his Dad was dead, because his Mom worked all hours to save up for college and because Terry was a jerk.

Jerk. It was such a nice word, so full of the contempt he felt. Dreg was good too, and twip, but somehow jerk just summed it all up. Jerk, Jerk, Jerk!

The soft alert of an incoming call interrupted his litany and he keyed up the vidphone. The casual 'Yeah' died on his lips when he saw who was calling. Instead Mr Wayne was greeted with a curt, "Terry's not here."

Wayne's wizened old face barely registered the greeting, and he said, "Have you spoken to him tonight?"

Matt snorted, "My twip brother hasn't spoken to me in months. Goodbye, Mr Wayne."

He ended the call, not wanting to know why Wayne was calling or why he wanted to know about Terry calling. So what if the vidphone had registered a call from Terry that cut off before Matt could answer. So what if he had been a little slow in keying it up – the twip hadn't bothered leaving a message or trying again, or waiting a little longer.

An incoming call registered on the vidphone, with no caller id. Probably, Mr 'I'm so scary I eat kids' Wayne, again. Ignoring the insistent beeping, Matt rolled off the couch and walked into the kitchen. The monitor there was also trying to get his attention, but with his Mom working a late shift, Matt was the only one home. "And if I don't want to talk to Mr Wayne, I don't have to," Matt muttered to himself.

"Actually, you do."

Startled to hear the gravely voice, Matt spun around and stared at the vidphone. "How.."

Mr Wayne frowned, which made his grey face even more grim and he growled, "I know Terry tried to call you this evening – did you speak to him?"

"What's it to you?"

Even through the vidphone, Matt could feel Wayne's glare intensify and he couldn't help the small flinch when Wayne practically shouted, "McGinnis! Did he call you?"

Trying to act nonchalant, he shrugged, "Yeah, he tried, hung up before I could answer."

Wayne's silent glare made him uneasy, as if the old dreg knew he had ignored the call, knew he hadn't even tried to answer. "What time?"

Again the fake shrug, "Don't know, maybe half an hour ago."

This time, Wayne hung up, the vidscreen going dark. Matt blew out a sign of relief. As much as he disliked Mr Wayne, the old guy had lost none of his ability to scare the pants off him. For the umpteenth time he wondered how Terry could work for such a dreg.

He wandered back into the living room, refusing to wonder why Wayne was looking for Terry. Surely he kept his pet lapdog on a tight leash? Terry barely had time for anything non-work related, probably had a bug up his ass and everything – could follow his every movement….

"Shi.."

Wayne's grim face was still on the vidscreen and he looked even less happy than before – if that was possible.

"You got your licence last week. Get over here now, I need you to help me find Terry."

"What?"

Stunned, Matt just stared at Wayne – find Terry? Terry was missing? It seemed that Matt's attitude could operate autonomously, because he heard himself say, "I don't work for you, Wayne. If you've lost the twip, send one of your lackeys to find him. Heaven forbid he actually have any free time…"

Wayne was gone, the vidscreen blank. For a long time, Matt just stared at the vidphone. Terry was missing? Why call him, why not the cops or some nameless bodyguard, why him? Did Wayne have some sort of fetish for McGinnis's doing his dirty work?

What the hell, Terry?

The last place he expected to find himself was outside Wayne Manor, but here he was. The old place was just plain grim. Opulent as sin, but grim. As if something dark and brooding sucked the life out of the surroundings.

"This way."

He looked up to see Mr Wayne walking towards the large stable of garages and he had to run to catch up. "Look here, Mr Wayne – I don't come running when you whistle, I'm not Terry."

"And yet you are here."

And he was – he had rode his bike all the way out here and yes, he was coming when called – but he be damned if he did it without knowing what was going on.

"What's going on, Wayne? Where's Terry?"

Wayne tossed him a set of keys and walked towards a nondescript car, growling over his shoulder, "That's what we're going to find out. Get in."

In the end Matt decided that silence suited him just fine. It was better than having his questions ignored or getting 'that' glare. Instead he tried not to think about his brother and what he was involved in. Obviously pet lapdog meant more than just paperwork.

Wayne was studying a small handheld computer that seemed to be tracking something. Maybe the bug idea wasn't so far off. Matt decided to try one more time, "If Terry has a tracker on him, why call me?"

"Because the tracer on Terry isn't working and I had to use your vidphone to triangulate the position of his call."

"Oh. What's he doing that he needs a tracker or you…"

The glare was back and silence fell over the car.

"Turn left here."

Silently Matt steered the surprisingly powerful car through Gotham's narrow streets, turning when told to. They were headed towards the warehouse district near the docks, an area so overrun by Jokerz and crooks that businesses had to use the fancier storage facilities nearly a mile up river.

"Stop. From here we walk."

Matt slowed the car down and stopped. As he got out, he couldn't stop the shiver that ran up his spine. This place was the dregs – what was Terry doing down here? Old abandoned warehouses, filled with shadows and the dusty remnants of a time long past, loomed over them. There was no sound of the usual bustle and traffic of Gotham down here, just the silence of decay and neglect.

"This way." Wayne was walking down a narrow alley as if he did this every other day, as if he was well used to neighbourhoods where you would be lucky to escape with your life, let alone with all of your skin.

As much as he was bursting with a thousand questions about why they were here, and why the tracer wasn't working and why, oh why, Terry was down here, Matt kept quiet. It seemed very important to be quiet. For an old man, Wayne moved silently, with barely any sound save the occasional cane tap on the ground. Matt however, felt as if every time he tripped over unseen trash or stumbled into something, that he drew the attention of a thousand eyes. Wayne continued on regardless and Matt struggled to keep up.

The whole area was a maze of buildings either in ruins or in the process of falling apart. Try as he could, Matt couldn't keep track of where they were and he began to doubt that he would be able to find the car again.

"Stop!"

The command was a harsh whisper but Matt immediately froze. Heart pounding, he scanned the area, trying to see what had made Wayne stop.

Soft voices, with the odd giggle thrown in, floated down the alley. Matt watched in frozen silence as a trio of Jokerz walked past their shadowed alley. He was certain that they would be seen – that the Jokerz couldn't but help hear his pounding heart. But the trio ambled past without a backward glance. Wayne waited what Matt thought was far too short a time before continuing.

Everything seemed subdued, almost dead. Even the Jokez had felt it and were not as loud as they usually were – what was this place? The further they went, the colder the air became until Matt began to see his warm breath condense in the frigid air. Still he couldn't give voice to the questions that nagged him – it was too important to be quiet.

"Here." Wayne's growl was soft and Matt looked up at the warehouse they were in front of. Realising Wayne had not waited for him he scurried inside and soon spotted the stooped figure making its way towards the back of the structure.

"Up there."

Matt, whose heart was pounding from the brisk walk to catch up to Wayne and well – with the whole situation, gasped, "What?" He looked up at where Wayne was pointing. The warehouse must have once had a second floor but the majority of it had collapsed. Only a small portion remained and it looked inaccessible.

"Terry's up there? How? I don't see…"

Wayne thrust a small black device into his hands and said, "Aim for the beam exposed there on the right and press down hard."

"What?"

"Do it, McGinnis!" The glare was accompanied by a growl that had him aiming and pressing on reflex. He nearly dropped the thing when a line shot out of it and embedded itself in the beam overhead. "What the…?"

"Press down again and it'll reel you up. When you reach the second floor, swing yourself over the edge – don't land on it or it'll break."

"Do what?"

Matt stared at Wayne. He could barely see the old man it was so dark in the warehouse. The light from a solitary streetlight outside the warehouse was the sole source of light and he barely see the edge of the second floor, let alone swing and jump where?

He opened his mouth to protest again, when Wayne was suddenly in his space and he had no idea the old guy could get any scarier but boy, could he! A low visceral voice growled, "Get up there now!"

Once again the button was pressed on reflex and Matt had to bite his tongue not to scream as the 'thing' zipped him through the air and he was soon swinging near the second floor. He tried to build some momentum to get a good arch over the edge but his arms were already taking strain and burning from the effort.

´Should have paid more attention in gym.'

He chickened out the first time he thought he had enough swing to reach the edge and he would have chickened out on the second, but somehow Wayne's urgent low growl reached him and he leapt. For a heartstopping moment he thought he had misjudged it and tried to fling himself further mid air onto the second floor. All he ended up doing was twisting enough to land awkwardly on his knee with a resounding thud.

Groaning, he tried to crawl further from the edge and ended up flat on his back, panting like mad. He might have lain there forever if he had his way, but another harsh growl from Wayne standing below, got him moving. Wondering how in the world the old guy could whisper so loud, Matt stood and tested out his knee. It seemed ok, considering, and he began to search the second floor.

He still had no idea how Terry could be up here and he was beginning to think that maybe Wayne had finally lost it and had him up here searching for nothing when in fact Terry was sound asleep in his apartment. Maybe the old twip was delusional – and that made Matt a right twip for going along with this.

Angry at that thought, he tried to turn suddenly to go back to Wayne and tell him where to get off, when his leg spasmed and he had steady himself against some boxes. Once the pain subsided, he realised the box was sticky and as he pulled away, his hands came away red.

Blood.

"Terry?" Matt's voice was soft and there was no answering movement. He was nearly at the wall of the warehouse – not much more space to check.

It only took two more steps to find him. He nearly didn't see him, there in the shadows, but the dark pool of blood gave him away.

The black suit was unmistakable, even without the distinctive cowl and red emblem on his chest. He had seen him before – had been rescued by him before. He was … untouchable. He wasn't supposed to bleed, wasn't supposed to need help. And there was so much blood. Everywhere.

"McGinnis?"

'Mr Wayne.'

Matt felt sick, sick to the stomach. My brother is a jerk … and Batman.


	2. And Now?

Chapter 2 – And now?

I don't really remember much of how we got Terry… er.. Batman… my brother down from there. Just flashes.

Mr Wayne had some sort of tiny paramedic backboard that enlarged itself and had a self contained hover motor or something – kinda convenient, huh? Talk about the perpetual pessimist boy scout, and well, I remember seeing Batman… Terry … laying there, not moving and the blood.

Blood on my hands – my brother's blood.

And I remember going down the rope thing and getting the backboard and trying to move him. He was heavy. And sticky with more blood.

My brother's blood.

And then reaching the ground again, my arms and legs on fire but he was down and safe and still – still – so … so much blood.

I remember Mr Wayne's face because it was blank. Nothing, no shock, no concern just – blank. I tried to watch Mr Wayne in the rearview mirror as he worked on Terry. I don't know how we didn't have an accident because my attention sure as hell wasn't on the road.

How could there be so much blood and Terry still be … alive?

We didn't go to the hospital – I remember arguing about that, we nearly hit another car. I remember calling Mr Wayne quite a few names my mother would have washed my mouth out for, but he just told me to drive and I drove.

There was a doctor waiting, and a nurse, when we arrived. They quickly took Terry into a small room and Mr Wayne and I stood like a pair of idiots beside the car for a while. It was only when Mr Wayne began to walk towards that room that I realised we were in the Batcave. Yeah, the Batcave. Years ago I used to imagine what it was like, Batman's home. It was everything and nothing like I imagined. Cool, dark and mysterious, but my brother was Batman. Terry was – is – Batman.

It took me a little while more before I followed Mr Wayne but before I could reach that small room, Mr Wayne came out and placed a firm hand on my arm. His grip was like steel and he steered me towards a large computer screen. "Dr Matthews needs another surgeon here. You'll have to go fetch him."

They kept his mask on, those surgeons, while they worked on him. Mr Wayne convinced them that the suit registered no head or facial wounds and no one really argues with Bruce Wayne for long. I would have stayed and watched, after I had fetched Dr Harris, but it seemed Mr Wayne thought that I could worry better outside that room.

I guess normally the Batcave would have held any number of interesting things to look at but it seemed wrong, off, downright stupid to explore when my brother lay not ten feet away with his insides exposed, his blood on my hands and his face covered by a mask. I sat in a chair near the computer and watched the bats flit through the cave. I watched them for a long time.

"Go wash up, Matthew."

Matt looked up. Mr Wayne was standing next to him, his face still expressionless.

"What's happening with Terry?"

It took Mr Wayne a few moments to answer and eventually he said, "They are finishing up. Not much longer."

Matt stood, his stomach a raw knot of fear, "Is he going to be ok?"

"Go wash your hands, McGinnis."

He looked down at his hands. A wave of nausea coursed through him and when he looked up again, Mr Wayne was gone, back into the surgery.

It didn't seem right – washing his hands. Matt found the showers and stood in front of a basin, staring at his hands. It felt wrong shedding that coat of blood. You needed blood to live, right? Surely there was some way of giving this back, putting it back inside, Terry needed this blood.

Matt looked at his reflection and sighed. There was blood on his face too. He pulled at his jacket, and felt the skin catch as dried blood pulled away. Blood in the warehouse, blood in the car, blood on him, on Mr Wayne, inside that room – was there any left in Terry?

The water felt cool on his hot hands and Matt watched the water turn red as it washed his brother away. Strange, scattered thoughts rose from the jumbled ether of his mind. 'Why hide Terry's face and not his and Mr Wayne's?' 'Did those surgeons know? Know about Batman?' 'How many times had they done this before? Had they done this before? Has Terry been hurt before?'

The answer to that question was easy – yes. In his final year of high school alone Terry had accumulated a large number of injuries, who knew how many he had hid. Their mom had been concerned that Terry was involved in a gang again. And last year, when he had had that broken nose, Matt had laughed that maybe he was in a fight club or something. Mary McGinnis hadn't laughed but Terry never got arrested, never got into serious trouble, so what was a mother to do except worry. There were rarely any scars, Wayne Enterprises' finest medical insurance saw to that.

"Matt?"

He looked up. Mr Wayne again. He was silhouette against the brighter light of the Batcave in which he seemed perfectly at home.

"They're finished."

Matt quickly grabbed a towel and dried his hands, ignoring their pruney look from being held under the water for too long. The towel landed in a puddle as Matt followed Mr Wayne out. The computer was on now, a bright red bat logo spinning tirelessly on screen. A solitary doctor waited for them. Her face was closed, but she offered them a small smile.

"He's still under and will be for a few hours. Grace will stay with him."

Matt waited for the rest, for the prognosis, the details, the information – anything, on Terry. The doctor just smiled again.

"And? What about Terry? Is he ok?"

Mr Wayne's glare was sharp but Matt didn't care. So what if the doctor knew Batman was Terry, that Terry was Batman, that Bruce Wayne was a psycho for letting his brother be Batman. "Well?"

"He's…"

The pause, the long uncomfortable pause, did nothing to make Matt feel any better. Instead hot anger burned through his fear and he snapped, "What? He's what?"

She sighed, soft and uncertain. "I'm surprised he's alive. Hell, I'm surprised he survived long enough for Dr Harris to arrive. He should have died in the car or wherever you found him, because… he has no right to still be alive without the amount of blood loss and internal injuries, not to mention that damn piece of bone sticking right through his lung…."

"What?" Matt stammered, shocked straight back into fear, anger long forgotten.

"His suit, whatever it is, kept the bone inside him so it had no place to exit… I don't know…"

Dr Matthews continued talking, but Matt didn't hear the rest of it. His feet marched on their own accord away from her, away from her disbelief and straight to the only thing that mattered.

His brother.

The mask was still on, he still looked like Batman. The nurse, Grace, was busy cleaning up and she gave him the same small smile that the Doctor had and left carrying a tray of bloodied instruments.

"Hey, Ter. Guess what?"

The heart monitor and respirator beeped and hissed in response. A clean sheet covered his bare torso but the number of monitors, drips and lines going into him ruined any sort of illusion of mere slumber.

"I know a secret."

And with that Matt gently inserted a finger under the mask and lifted. It came off easier that expected and there he was. Terry.

Hair mussed, skin pale, eyes closed, but still him. Terry.

"Hey, bro. Cool car."

Bruce Wayne is a great, big, fat, senile, old, decrepit jerk! Yes, Mr Wayne, I am calling you a jerk!

He sent me home! Sent me home. HOME!

The dreg! The twip! The frigging jerk!

So what if I have to be at school in hour. So what if Mom will be wondering where I am… kay.. maybe that's serious, but still!

Terry's hurt and he just expects me to walk away, go to school, pretend everything's fine and then what… come running afterwards?

Yeah right!

School is going to suck.

( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( )

It was usually pretty quiet during the day in the Batcave. Like its master, it was nocturnal and only really came awake in the dark hours. And today was no different, save that its master still lingered within its dim confines.

The bats that dwelt in the lofty reaches of the cavern had long since returned from their nightly hunt and a stiff silence hung in the cave.

Bruce Wayne stood staring at his old batsuit, safely locked behind glass. He had had to remind Dr Matthews of her debt and why prying into the personal life of her patient was ill advised. Dr Harris was long used to the odd night time visit to stitch, repair and otherwise hide the evidence of a brutal fight. Grace was sleeping, but on call should Batman need her. Either of them.

Foes in years past had been caught simply because Bruce had been patient enough to wait them out, wait for them to make a mistake. Terry had once said that he could out-stare and out-wait a glacier but that legendary patience was being tested right now.

There were questions that left fiery footprints through his brain, questions that he was desperate to know the answer to. The suit's residual memory had been of no use, it went static at the same time that he had lost contact with Terry.

Terry.

Only McGinnis had the answers about what had happened and he hadn't even woken up yet.

Batman had gone into the Deadzone, the rather apt name for the warehouse district, on a simple recon mission. Check out what the Jokerz were doing; see if the T's had tried to move in; and if Marconi had dumped anybody new in the reservoir. There was nothing about losing contact with the Cave, or getting beaten so badly that Wayne needed to call in the cavalry. Unfortunately the cavalry had to be an old man and a teenager who shouldn't know anything about Batman's secrets but now did. And Bruce still had no idea what or who had trounced the Dark Knight and left him for dead. And that annoyed him no end.

Bruce sighed softly and wished for the umpteenth time that Max was in Gotham. But she wasn't and the exclusive 'I know who Batman is' club had just grown by two – kid brother and reluctant doctor.

The old suit held none of the answers either, nor offered inspiration and Bruce turned from it and walked stiffly towards the ex-surgery-now-recovery room. The lights were dim inside and from the doorway he could see the faint outline of Terry - hopefully working his way back to consciousness.

The large bat logo on screen began to pulse with an incoming alert and Bruce turned from the forlorn sight and keyed up the alert. After reading the GCPD report and a few others as they came in, Bruce found himself staring at the darkened doorway that hid Batman.

It seemed that whatever had stomped Batman was wasting no time in making its presence known on the street. Officers were being called in half a dozen directions to various 'situations', all of which triggered the 'odd' parameters on the computer searches.

Over the next two hours, Bruce watched as the police department rushed from one robbery to the next, always two minutes too late to even catch sight of the perp. Closed circuit street cameras yielded nothing as they went static just long enough for the robbery to occur and then switched back to live feed. Jewellery stores, banks, a few museums. Each hit suddenly and quietly, with the cops trailing behind.

Bruce mused silently, 'Question: What does someone who has just taken out Batman do next? Answer: Tear up the town in broad daylight.'

Gotham needed a hero. Would an understudy do?


	3. Decisions

Chapter 3 – Decisions

Wayne Manor was quiet. An air of neglect hung over the vast structure, the majority of its rooms closed and unused. Only one wing of the Manor had any semblance of life and as Matt ascended the cold marble staircase leading upstairs, he couldn't fight the feeling of cold regard from long dead Waynes as he walked past the collected paraphernalia of a dynasty.

The Manor was dark. No lights had been turned on as the sun set and Matt navigated the long corridor by the light of a distant room, its open door spilling warm, golden light down the cold corridor. Bruce Wayne was either entirely at home in the dark, or had a scrooge-like attitude towards wasted electricity, because as far as Matt could see, Terry's room was the only one with a light on.

Having reached the door, Matt stood in the shadows for a moment, caught between a desire to know and not actually wanting to either.

"Come in, Matthew."

Mr Wayne's voice sounded tired, and … frail? Matt pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside.

Bruce Wayne was standing at the foot of Terry's bed, holding his chart and reading it for what must be the umpteenth time. He seemed … off. Usually Wayne gave nothing away with regards to his current state of emotions, other than anger of course, which he regularly embraced, but now, he radiated unease.

Matt took the three steps to the bed and stared at Terry. All traces of Batman were gone, it was just Terry lying in the bed, attached to machines, sprouting wires and tubes. Just plain old Terry. And Wayne was uneasy.

"What's up?" He tried to sound casual, confident, but the small tremor in his voice betrayed any act of nonchalance.

Mr Wayne didn't even turn to face Matt, his attention focused solely on the medical chart as if it held mighty secrets. "Not much, I fear."

Frowning, Matt tried to edge closer and read the chart as well, but Wayne finally turned and brought the full force of his impenetrable gaze on the young man. "I'm afraid that I may have to give in to the rather vocal requests of Dr Matthews and Grace about Terry's care."

Firmly quashing the fear that rose in his stomach at the idea of Terry needing more help than what was available; Matt felt a glimmer of hope, "You're finally going to get him to the hospital?"

Mr Wayne nodded and Matt smiled. Hospitals were better than this clandestine medical treatment. Hospitals had lots of nurses and doctors, not just one of each. More doctors were good.

"There is a well-respected Institute in San Francisco which has the leading team of coma specialists in the country. I have arranged for Terry to be sent there tomorrow."

'_San Francisco? Tomorrow?'_

"Wait, wait. San Francisco? Why in the hell send him to San Francisco? Gotham's got hospitals – lots of hospitals!"

It's difficult glaring at Bruce Wayne – your deadliest deathray of indignation and scorn just bounces off him like a paper airplane but Matt refused to back down.

"It's better this way. Less questions, and fewer people aware that he's hurt." Cool, calm and logical but backed by steel determination.

"So what! Its bad enough you won't even tell Mom about Terry, that she's coasting around thinking he's perfectly ok meanwhile he's … he's… and now you want to send him away! NO!"

Matt's shout was unpleasantly loud, and while it seemed wrong shouting in the presence of someone who was sick, or sleeping, or whatever the hell Terry was doing, Matt half hoped his shouting would wake Terry up, disturb his unnatural slumber so that he wouldn't have to leave. So that everything would be ok.

Wayne waited for Matt to finish and then made him wait a little more and said gruffly, "Think, McGinnis. There was no police report about Terry's injuries and there isn't going to be one, because it involves Batman. No police report will cause questions, even if we say it was an accident. Terry is known in Gotham and questions will be asked, questions that Batman can't afford. And do you really think that your mother won't find out about her son being in hospital…"

"She should know! She's his mother! It's not right, you old twip, she should know!"

"Can you answer her questions, McGinnis? Can you lie to her? Make it ok that she has only found out a week after he was injured?"

Matt shook, he was so angry, "No, damnit, I can't, which is why I should never have gone along with your twip control freak games and hid this. We should have just taken him to the hospital first!"

Wayne took a step forward and Matt instinctively backed off, hating that he did it so readily.

"I don't care what you think, old man! You were wrong to bring him here, wrong! And now you want to just pack him off – put him away so you don't have to bother with him anymore! No! And what the hell are you going to tell Mom, huh? That Terry's mentally unstable and you're shipping him off to the funny farm?"

"I've already spoken to her and explained that Terry had to leave suddenly to help out in the London office. I told her he'd call to say goodbye."

The hollow anger that usually developed whenever Terry 'disappeared' without a proper goodbye or rang to say he couldn't come, or just plain didn't come, blazed within Matt and he barely heard Bruce explain about a voice modulator but he caught the just of it.

"You manipulative bastard! How many frigging times have you called to make Terry's excuses? She deserves better than your slagging lies. You're not sending Terry away – to hell with your plans!"

Fury coursed through him and Matt sorely wanted to throw a punch at the grim old man, but prudence beyond his years stopped him. The pair stood staring at the each other for what seemed like hours and just as Matt was about to add yet another blistering insult, Bruce said softly,

"He's not coming out of this anytime soon, Matt."

The tired voice chilled Matt, and the dead feeling inside him drowned his anger in a deluge of fear. Fighting to recapture the hot anger that so much better than feeling that way, Matt snapped, "It's only been a week, old man. It's too soon to tell."

"Dr Matthews, Grace, the medical readouts all disagree with you, Matthew. Terry shows no sign of waking any time soon and the sooner he is in a facility that can cater to his long term needs, the better."

Taking a step backwards, Matt stared at the still form of his brother. He was just sleeping, that's all. Any moment now he was going to open his eyes, sit up and crack some wise-ass remark.

'_Please. Please.'_

Subdued, Matt sighed, "So use a fake name or something, Mr Wayne, but please, keep him here in Gotham. I…"

Wayne's hand on his shoulder startled Matt so badly that he jerked his arm away before recognising the comfort being offered. "It's better this way, Matthew. No opportunity for questions, no mysterious circumstances or flimsy lies. He'll be safe in San Francisco, safe to recover in his own time."

Desperate, searching for anything, any reason to argue, Matt stammered, "But what about Batman?" He didn't quite know 'what' exactly it was about Batman, but surely Terry's alter ego played a part, had some consideration.

Mr Wayne turned away and limped towards the folded newspaper on the chair near Terry's bed. Most people didn't bother with the old fashioned paper-print version of the news, the vidlink was good enough. But for eccentrics like Wayne, the old paper copy was available – at a price. He picked the smooth paper up and thrust it into Matt's hands.

Matt didn't need to read the headline on page one to know what the paper was reporting. But somehow, seeing the words in large bold letters across a page, made it more real, more… inescapable.

_IS BATMAN DEAD?_

What was the old adage? Don't believe everything you read. Except, most people did.

Matt said nothing and merely stared at Bruce Wayne. Those who knew best couldn't even answer that question.

"Someone, and I presume it is whoever attacked Terry, has been spreading the rumour that Batman is dead. And while such news might seem unlikely, the criminal element live in constant hope that the Bat would just drop down and die and any possibility, however remote that it's true, bears investigation."

"The bank robberies. The jewellery stores."

Wayne nodded, "Correct. They are testing the waters, seeing if Batman appears. And so far… he has not."

Matt could feel himself shaking, and he tried to hide it as he said, "Will it matter if he doesn't it? I mean, Terry can still return later and Batman will back right?" Part of him desperately hoped that it would be that easy – that simple.

Nodding again, Bruce Wayne grimaced, "It is not Terry's return that concerns me and I have no doubt that he could quickly re-establish his presence. It is the intervening months without Batman that do."

He slowly made his way to the window, and stared out over the grounds of Wayne Manor. Matt, pulled by the thread of his own making, his fear and curiosity, followed him and stood slightly behind Bruce as he spoke.

"A great many people rely on Batman's presence in Gotham. He makes Jokerz reluctant to get too creative, too violent. Organised crime acts more cautiously for fear of the Batman. Crooked cops walk a finer line, knowing the Bat watches them. Drug lords, thieves, rapists – all of them keep one eye on their money and the other on the rooftops."

The soft hiss of a respirator filled the room. It was so small, so thin – the thread that tied Terry to life. The Manor loomed around the brightly light room, a monstrous black beast with a golden, flickering heart.

"Those same people who fear Batman will be quick to capitalise on his absence, however temporary. And those of us who enjoy his protection will pay the price and for some, it will be permanent."

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A solitary trickle of blood wormed its way out of the alley and headed as gravity and nature had intended to the shallow depression of a drain. Pooling momentarily until it built enough strength to spill over the edge of the drain, the first droplets dove from a dizzy height. Rather than conclude their journey with the sound of liquid meeting liquid, the drops rained unsteadily on the still form lying broken at the bottom of the drain.

Growing in intensity, the trickle was joined by two more thin streams and soon an incessant rain of blood fell on the corpse below.

A sturdy black boot interrupted the flow and two flashlight beams spilt the darkness of the drain cum tomb and revealed the grisly body.

"Damn. Another."

"Looks like there's one here too. Better call it in."

Officer Delaney listened as her partner called in the two bodies, requesting the coroner rather than an ambulance. Sighing, she turned her flashlight onto the narrow streets around them, revealing only a startled alley cat and accumulated garbage.

While she wasn't privy to all the details, she knew that the Detectives at her precinct had been working on busting a drug ring in this neighbourhood. Judging by the number of bodies suddenly appearing, someone else was removing the competition. It certainly didn't help that the majority of the bodies had been police informants.

"Hey, Delaney! Baker has called in one as well. We're going to have to wait."

She muttered 'great' and again scanned the surroundings silently offering up a question to the absent stars, 'He can't really be gone, can he?'

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_I have got to be out of my frigging tree! _

_Yes, somewhere back in the dim recesses of the McGinnis family, there is a monkey sitting safely in its tree, having heard the warning call about the giant sabertooth approaching, and its wondering what in the hell I am doing out of mine endangering the genes it survived to produce. Yeah … or I just watch way too many nature vids and need my head read._

_Either way I have lost my mind! _

_What on earth was I thinking! It wasn't as if Wayne had to talk me into it or anything. I offered. Offered! Sure there was more arguing and a lot more shouting – all me, thank you but the old man got his way. Terry was picked up by some nameless air-ambulance and flown out of Gotham. Out of the city that nearly killed him._

_Man, am I morbid tonight! You'd think that'd I'd be stoked and I guess I am – kinda. But mostly, I terrified. _

Matt looked at his reflection, again. He was standing on the ledge of some high rise office block in Gotham's business district and the reflection staring back at him from the dark windows was scary. It was supposed to be scary. Batman was so supposed to frighten the twips and dregs of society. Batman himself wasn't supposed to be scared.

The silent, impassive face reflected back at him, betrayed none of the fear he felt and Matt was glad for that small mercy at least. He wasn't as tall as Terry, nor as broad of shoulder, but otherwise he looked the part.

The suit felt heavy. The combined weight of the cowl, fancy technology inside the suit and the responsibility he was taking on weighed on him.

He had tried the suit out earlier that evening, done a little test flight, felt the extra power the suit lent him. It was quite the rush. Bruce had actually laughed when he suggested trying out the Batmobile, so he had flown into Gotham with only the suit. It hadn't been the smoothest flight either – nor the best landing as evidenced by the newly beheaded gargoyle above him.

Feeling a lot more like a kid dressed up on Halloween than the 'real' Batman, Matt vaguely reviewed the plans for his evening out. It was pretty simple – be seen. Not Batman's usual tactic, which was strike silently from the shadows and disappear as quickly, Matt was supposed to be obvious. Let as many people see him as possible. Keep the myth, the idea, of Batman alive.

And under no circumstances, none, was he to interact, fight, insult or otherwise engage anyone, not even criminals, especially not criminals. That at least, both he and Bruce Wayne had agreed on.

He felt slightly better knowing that Bruce was listening in and watching his every move. The old guy hadn't even laughed at his landing.

Sighing, Matt muttered to himself and partly to Wayne, "Well here goes nothing."

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Tiny Tiny had always wanted to be a clown. He knew he could make people laugh and he often did – it was great pity that most of it was nervous laughter.

But Tiny Tiny joined a circus, lived the clown dream and was set to remain a white face forever amidst the bright lights of the big top. Until the ringmaster found out about his non-clown activities and fired him before the police had even arrived. So Tiny Tiny expressed his disappointment, threw a few punches, stole the cash box and did a remarkable impression of a rabbit in a magician's hat and vanished.

He emerged months later in Gotham and found a bunch of clowns more to his liking. His bulk and vindictive sense of humour soon saw him at the head of a large Jokerz gang. Tiny Tiny didn't really like Gotham, it was too dull and dreary so he decided to spice it up a little, Jokerz style.

The Russell Grant building on 5th had an excellent balcony. It was wide enough for a small select cocktail party or evening gathering, but it now played host to a rather less illustrious crowd. Tiny Tiny and his Jokerz were putting its wonderful view of one of Gotham's hottest clubs, Night Fever, to unique use by bombarding the collected line of hopeful entrants with water balloons.

The balloons were filled with a mixture of diluted acid (that to the Jokerz's dismay, only really melted clothing and reddened the skin), paint, urine, strangely enough water and in the odd case, chocolate pudding. Tiny had not marked each balloon, so neither the Jokerz nor the hapless victims below quite knew what was going to be hurled at them. This naturally, only added to the fun.

A couple of beat cops had tried to reach the doors to the building but a series of well aimed balloons had them cornered with the rest of the trapped clubbers, under whatever cover they could find.

"Yeah! Check that ladies umbrella disintegrate, man! Nice try, grandma!"

Tiny Tiny, his white face expressionless, picked up a fat yellow balloon and idly hoped it was an acid one as he hurled it at one of the cops trying to make a move for the building. Rats, chocolate pudding.

"Got any custard pies?"

The voice acted as an effective pause button and all of the Jokerz looked across the street to see an unwelcome party-crasher.

Matt had delayed announcing his arrival for a good 5 minutes, trying to think of a witty opening line. When nothing came to mind, he cursed Terry for building a smart-alec rep for the Bat and went with what he had.

The Jokerz stared at him, stunned and for a wild moment, Matt thought that would be all it would take to make them surrender, until Tiny Tiny threw a massive green balloon straight at him. Ducking too late, a mess of florescent pink paint splattered over him and the Jokerz erupted into hoots of laughter.

Belatedly glad that it hadn't been acid, Matt was about to snap a comeback when the pink ooze began to bubble.

"Ahhh…" He hastily wiped what he could off and hoped to high heaven that the suit was acid-proof. A barrage of balloons arced their way towards him and Matt found himself in the middle of unexpected game of dodgeball. Narrowly missing pudding but getting urine instead, Matt hissed at Bruce, "Now what, old man?"

"Just distract them long enough for the cops to arrive. Do no try anything, McGinnis." Noting the size of some of the Jokerz, particularly Tiny Tiny, Matt had no inclination to 'try anything' but he wasn't about to just take this abuse lying down.

Muttering to himself, he pulled out a batarang, "If they like throwing stuff, maybe we can play catch."

It was a perfect plan. Toss a batarang at the large bucket of remaining balloons and blow up the lot, right over the Jokerz. See how they like wearing paint and pee. Squaring his shoulders, ducking one more balloon, Matt threw the batarang.

Perfect plan, imperfect throw.

Matt watched in growing disbelief as his batarang failed to get enough height to even reach the Jokerz and the slagging thing smashed into the balcony itself and exploded, ripping through the support structure beneath.

"Oops."

"McGinnis."

The balcony gave an ominous creak and stonework began to groan and crack in such an alarming fashion that the Jokerz quickly abandoned balloons for a firmer grip on the railing. Alas, any plans to make an answering barrage at the Bat were confounded as the balcony began to fall apart and slowly tear itself away from the building.

Their mad scramble to safety within the building was met by a SWAT team and judging from the sounds inside, Tiny Tiny and his clowns would not be carefree for much longer.

Matt, however, could not enjoy the sweet taste of victory as his horrified gaze was fixed on the crumbling balcony. With a massive groan the stone spilt and the once impressive structure tore itself free from the building and with graceful arc fell to the ground. And thoroughly smashed half a dozen cars beneath it.

Leaning slightly forward, Matt looked over the edge and prayed that no one had been hurt. A stunned crowd, many of whom were paint or pudding splattered were gathering around the devastation.

There was no hearty cheer or resounding thank you. Feeling decidedly out of place, Matt looked across to where the balcony had once stood and saw two swat policemen staring at him.

Awkwardly he triggered the jets in the suit and made a clumsy take off, before disappearing behind a building.

"Er…. Mr Wayne?"

Silence.

Knowing he would hear, but not caring, he sighed.

"Oh boy."

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Nftw (note from the writer)

Thanks for the reviews. And yes, I know there are questions, absent characters, unexplained decisions. Fear not – all will become clear. Promise.

But feel free to ask in the mean time…


	4. Consequences

Chapter 4 - Consequences

The paper was fluttering madly in the growing wind as Gotham prepared itself for a rainy night. Low rain clouds hung heavy over the city, their saturated bellies promising a serious downpour. Paul Snadden, eager to get home before the rain hit, nearly didn't stop when his eye caught sight of the paper but after a moment's hesitation, he quickly scooped the paper up and hurried on his way.

As a reporter he knew how scarce 'real' newspapers were – most people didn't bother anymore. Heck, even his own paper had debated the viability of still producing such antiquated editions but since every other paper was still doing it… Paper was expensive, data was cheaper, so it was mostly surprise that promoted him to pick up the paper newspaper and he was even more surprised to find that it was his own paper, _The Gotham Star_, with the headline he wrote yesterday.

Paul wasn't happy with the headline. _The Tribune_ had beat him to the one he would have preferred. MASKED MENACE sounded so up better than HERO TO ZERO. It was flat, cliché, blasé, ridiculous even, and naturally his editor loved it.

'_Run with it my boy, run with it. The plebeians will love it. Zero to Hero… er... Hero to Zero…I like it!'_

With a critical eye, Paul scanned the leading story, his story, trying to spot any typos or misprints. The boys in copy had better not have let anything slip through again, not after the 'pubic' affairs fiasco.

"Right, reports of his demise false, masked vigilant back, been hit with the clumsy stick… um… "

It all seemed accurate and what a great story too!

'_The masked menace! Man, what a headline, if only Roberts hadn't been so quick off to copy – dreg!' _

He had thought it might have been too sensational to call the Batmobile clipping the side of South Tower at Gotham Plaza a near catastrophe but his editor had actually asked him to spice it up a bit more. So the 120 broken windows had become approx. 150 and the 1 million dollars worth of damage had received the vague exaggeration of millions of dollars, which was probably true, as a number of fancy executive type cars had been crushed by the debris.

Paul snorted to himself as he tucked the paper under his arm and walked a little more briskly. He should have mentioned that no one had seen the Batmobile at all since it nearly collided with a shuttle bus during a high speed chase. Seems the Bat was giving his 'ride' a rest and was taking an advanced defensive driving course or something, because there had been no 'sighting' of the car in over a week.

That, fortunately or unfortunately, depending on whether you were a reporter with a juicy story or the mugger with a broken jaw, could not be said for Batman himself. The Dark Knight had put not one, but two crooks in hospital. The first was a mugger who he had decked a little too hard and broken his jaw. The guy was now suing the city. The other, a would be rapist, had been jerked off his feet so roughly he was complaining of whiplash and chronic back pain. Normally the typical complaints and accusations of undue force from apprehended suspects were ignored but when the Bat was already acting so off his game, the complaints were readily lapped up by the press. Paul was certain that come week end, he'd have 20 more such complaints of excessive force – even if Batman hadn't been involved.

Hell, even the cops would be more inclined to believe such claims by then. Batman had royally slagged them off when he crashed through the roof of a major sting operation and all of the bad guys got away and the cops were left with nothing for six months hard work. Not to mention the mayor's police escort that got delayed when a bat boomerang-thing went off right in front of the car and they all thought they were under attack. The mayor had been so pissed that Paul had a direct quote from her calling Batman a 'loose cannon and a danger to the city'. It had been a fantastic end to his story. 'Mayor denounces masked hero.'

Ha!

Paul's happy smugness was instantly cooled as the heavens opened and a torrent of water fell from the sky. Cursing, Paul grabbed the paper and using it as an expensive umbrella ran for his apartment block.

The steady downpour soon turned the paper into useless mush but the words remained, broadcast across the vidnet, safe from the ravages of the weather.

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Trish stared at the small black device in her hand. There was so visible sign that it was working. She had pressed hard in the small depression and had to hope that whatever signal it was supposed to send, was sent. There were no identifying marks or features on the device – it was plain in design and appearance as well as use.

Press and wait, he had said. So she was and had been for a while. She had pressed into it a few more times, just in case but so far, nothing.

The sound of a soft footfall behind her was surprising. If it was him, he was usually so quiet that she had no idea when he arrived until she turned around and just about leapt out of her skin, but maybe it wasn't him…

Patting the squat shape of the switchblade tucked safely away but within easy reach, she casually turned around, prepared to face anyone.

It was him.

He was hunched a little over the roof edge, as if she had caught him mid-step. He sank down into a crouch and waited, his blank white eyes focused solely on her.

Smiling broadly, Trish sauntered towards him and said, "About damn time you got here. I've been trying to find you for days. Where've you been?"

"You have?" he sounded surprised and then said, "What have you got for me?"

She smiled again and drew even closer, and tsked, "I tried all your usual stops in the area, left messages with most of your contacts, you know. I know this," and she held up the small device, "is only for emergencies, but you weren't coming and it is kinda important…"

"Sorry, I've been busy..." again he paused and then said, "I'm here now, what is it?"

Trish's smile was perfect. In her line of work you learnt to smile at everyone and anyone, otherwise you didn't work. So her smile didn't falter but her approach did. Why did he sound so … different? He never made excuses.

Squaring her shoulders and shrugging, Trish took a few more steps towards him, and over the invisible mark he had set her. He didn't say anything, just stared. Another step and he tensed.

Offering her reassuring smile, one reserved for newbies and out of towners, Trish said, "About month ago I heard one of the girl's johns say something about not being able to afford younger ass. That Jade had upped her prices again."

Nothing. He looked completely blank as if … it wasn't something new to him. Mock pouting, she pushed the invisible line and drew even nearer. "You heard this from somewhere else, already?"

He shook his head and stammered, "No… who is Jade?"

He seemed distracted, nervous almost. Trish quickly ran a critical eye over him. He was definitely uncomfortable, and had the same air around him as a …. Newbie! She knew she was dressed for work, hell she was supposed to be working right now and if she didn't know better, she could swear his gaze was fixed on her ample and very visible bosom. It was hard to tell with those expressionless white eyes but still…he had never acted like this before.

Feeling that maybe he was a little lonely, she took another step closer making sure she 'jiggled' nicely. Did he just 'gulp'?

"You know - Jade who used to run the Palace, the one you bust with all those underage kids. Well, obviously it didn't take and she's back."

"Uh huh. I'll … I'll look into it, thanks."

Yeah, definitely lonely and distracted.

Feeling a shiver of excitement, Trish closed the remaining space between them and sighed eloquently, "So, Sugar, same payment as usual or do you want to cash it in for something else?"

He coughed nervously and made as if to draw away but didn't. Slowly, she reached out to touch him and ran a ginger finger down his arm. "So…hard," she smiled. He was frozen, and just stared at her.

Yep, a newbie. Who would have thought?

"Come on, Sugar. Bet there's a hundred girls who'd help you out, and trust me, I'm one of them." She ran her hand over his chest and sighed, "So dark, so mysterious… so alone, right?"

His heart was running a mile a minute but he wasn't backing away. Trying for her most sincere smile, Trish laughed, "We can even keep your mask on, whatever you want honey. Whatever." She pushed as much emphasis as she could into the 'whatever' and watched him swallow nervously.

The kiss was … different. The mask thing made it difficult to feel him but he seemed to know what he was doing. It was a little rough, like kissing someone with a serious beard but still… ok, she was kissing Batman, it was all it needed to be.

He broke the kiss suddenly, flinching as if an electric shock had coursed through him. "Sorry, sorry – no… I've got to go." He stood and stared at her for a moment, before jumping off the building and then zooming off into the night.

Sighing, Trish leant on the wall surrounding the roof and watched the red points of light that marked his flight disappear. So close.

Wondering if she should bother telling the girls about this, Trish stood and said to herself, 'Did he seem shorter or is it just me?'

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Recipient: Mary McGinnis (vidlink account number 75342a2)

From: Principal Marten (Hamilton Hill School)

Cc: Counsellor Towers (Hamilton Hill School)

Subject: Matthew McGinnis

Importance: High and Urgent.

Dear Mrs McGinnis,

It is with a great deal of distress that I find I must write to you with regards to Matthew's behaviour again. Fortunately, he has not been fighting, but within the last 3 weeks he has been tardy on 8 occasions, necessitating two detentions, both of which he has missed. In addition, his teachers report that his attention in class has declined, and that in fact, he is often caught sleeping. This, together with a steady decline in the quality of his work, is a cause for great concern. Mr Towers, our school counsellor, has tried repeatedly to set up an appointment with Matthew, and I have had to resort to pulling him out of class in order to address these issues.

He seems uncomfortable when confronted about his behaviour, but refuses to explain. I must, therefore, bring this to your attention and request an interview with you either this Thursday, or Friday.

This is Matthew's senior year and a vital one for his future prospects. I feel that if we work together, that we may be able to encourage Matthew to straighten himself out.

I look forward to your response.

Yours sincerely

Principal Jean Marten.

Hamilton Hill High School is a duly authorized and constituted public institution of education and falls under the authority of the General Governing Board for Gotham Schools.

This communication contains information which may be confidential, personal and/or privileged. It is for the exclusive use of the intended recipient(s). If are not the intended recipient(s), please note that any distribution, forwarding, copying or use of this communication or the information in it is strictly prohibited. Any personal views expressed in this e-mail are those of the individual sender and Hamilton Hill High School does not endorse or accept responsibility for them. Prior to taking any action based upon this message, you should seek appropriate confirmation of its authenticity.

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"Not your best night, McGinnis, but not your worst. Hit the showers."

Matt stood and stared at Bruce Wayne. The old guy was focused on the computer and hadn't even turned around to speak to him.

Anger had for the past year and half been a constant companion. Matt liked anger. It clarified life's insecurities and just filled you with such… power. That it was fun seeing people back off when you started shouting, was just a bonus. Shouting was good – with everyone except Bruce Wayne. It bounced off him like he had some impassive shield of 'I just don't care.'

But Matt was angry. Angrier than he had ever been in his life. He had tried shouting, tried the silent treatment, tried everything, and still nothing. The anger that he felt now was no longer hot. He no longer burned to get it out. Instead, it lay cold and silent within him and it felt wonderful.

"Go to hell, old man."

His voice was not raised, it barely even disturbed the bats and worked like a dream. Bruce turned around.

"Now what?"

He sounded tired, exasperated almost.

"I'm not doing this any more. You can take your pointy-eared hat and shove it! I'm done."

A raised eyebrow. The stupid, slagging raised eyebrow! Matt hated that eyebrow.

"But you were getting so good."

Sarcasm. That was getting old too.

"Let's face it, old man, I'm crap. And it's over."

"There were no broken bones this week. That's an improvement."

Matt ripped the cowl off and scowled at Bruce, "That's because I damn well didn't go near anyone!"

Again the raised eyebrow.

"She doesn't count!"

Bruce stood, leaning heavily on his cane. "You have to give it more time, Matt. Use the suit properly. It will come."

"Time? TIME! No, old man – I'm done. You won't frigging train me and I don't care if its better that I don't know how to really hurt someone, I need to know something!"

"Terry didn't need any training."

This time the line didn't work and Matt shouted, "I don't give a damn about Terry! Perfect, slagging Terry! I need help, old man and you just sit there and let me make a complete ass of myself … and Batman!"

"I told you that those newspaper articles are part of a smear campaign. Obviously the guy who took down Terry is trying to destroy Batman any way he can. Its not really what people are thinking."

"I don't frigging care what Gotham is thinking! I know what they've seen! I was there! And it's over!"

Bruce smirked softly, "You keep saying that and yet, you are still here. Arguing."

Matt cursed and violently threw the cowl at Bruce. It didn't quite reach him but Matt didn't care. "I'm done being Batman, twip. Don't call me, I won't call you."

And with that, Matt stalked out of the Batcave towards the alcove he usually changed in. Several loud crashes reverberated from the alcove as he vented a little more anger.

Bruce turned back to the computer, a small smile on his face. '_Oh, you'll be back, McGinnis. The bug has got you – you just don't know it._

He didn't turn to watch as Matt emerged and particularly ran to the entrance and disappeared upstairs. There would be no satisfyingly resounding crash as the door closed but Bruce knew Matt wished there would be.

Sitting down, Bruce pulled up the computer screen he had been working on before Matt had arrived. The twip had come back early and if he hadn't been so pissed off, may have actually seen the screen. He would have had to do some serious talking if the twip had but Matt was too angry to notice anything. Just as he should be.

Bruce arced his back and felt his spine crack. The figures in front of him were delightful to behold and brought a full on smile to his old face. The plan was working perfectly and would continue to do so even without the twip.

Just as long as McGinnis never came back.

Fortunately, he had paid damn good money to make sure he didn't.

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The soft beep of the heart monitor pulsed gently, indicating deep, restorative sleep.

Abruptly the pulse was interrupted as the regular rhythm was broken, and a faster pulse could be heard. A silent alarm was triggered, its red light flashing in counterpoint to the more active heart beat.

Fingers twitched and eyelids flickered until two blue eyes peered hazily from beneath. Reflexively muscles tensed against soft restraints and a befogged brain fought to clear away the confusing thoughts and images.

Distantly, Terry heard a clipped voice speak, but the words were scattered, their meaning unclear.

"Damn….. keeps fighting… larger dose…. No…. dangerous…. Just do it."

Blackness began to obscure his limited vision and he tried to shake his head, clear it. Relentlessly the blackness pressed down on him and even as he succumbed, a single voice came through the haze, clear as a bell.

"He's not supposed to wake up."

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Nftw: Ahhh.. the thot plickens.

Reviews will be treated like the precioussss gold that they are and gloated over in the dark.

Chapter 5 is just about ready and will posted by the weekend.


	5. Cuckoos Nest

Chapter 5 – Cuckoos Nest

Awareness was so slow to arrive, but as it pulled into the driveway of Terry's Consciousness, one could see that it had brought the screaming twins, Pain and Nausea along. Awareness was unwelcome guest. But Terry was determined to be awake, twins or no twins.

He knew the slagging machines monitoring his every biological function would not allow him to feign sleep and try as he might, he couldn't fight to stay awake without triggering the damn things. The machines' incessant and highly annoying alarms always summoned the Voice and the Voice always sent him away again. It was seriously getting on his nerves!

Sure, he didn't want to actually experience the ripping pain in his chest that provided a handy link to the real world, but it was a hellova lot better than the darkness and the damn dreams.

Distantly, as if his head was wrapped in a hundred pounds of cotton wool, Terry heard the alarm go off that signalled his return to the world of white walls and antiseptic smells. Cursing silently, he tried to clear his head as quickly as he could, so he'd be able to protest loudly, or at least protest, being put under again.

Slowly his vision cleared and the distant wall came into focus. There was a picture of some idealised Mediterranean coastal village painted in nauseating pinks and blues on the wall and Terry felt his stomach flip in response. The rest of the room was fairly standard 'hospital room', white bedsheets, white curtains and white chairs. In fact, the only bit of colour in the room was the picture.

Realising that the Voice had not appeared despite the still ongoing summons, Terry took stock. First off, now that Awareness was drinking tea and not leaving any time soon, Pain was jumping up and down, demanding his attention. He hurt – everywhere.

His chest and right leg seemed the worst, and he soon had isolated those areas as real 'injuries' while the rest of him was stiff, probably from being tied to a bed for who knew how long. Yes, tied. The sight of soft restraints on his wrists, and the weight of unseen ones on his ankles, made him mad. The anger helped clarify his thoughts even more, and Terry noted the number of IVs and lines attached to him.

A drip, but no blood transfusion line, so his injuries were healing. No oxygen canule, but he was sickened to realise he had a feeding tube stuck up his nose, so he had been out long enough to warrant that. There were a few monitor pads on his chest and forehead, but that was about it. He pinned the drip as the source of his pain medication and noted it was steadily, albeit slowly feeding him relief – yeah right. Maybe he was wrong about it being pain medication. One more line to check, and the uncomfortable tug as he gently moved his waist labelled that one, catheter.

"Damn."

His voice was rough and his throat so parched, that the curse came out as a croak but the sentiment was there. Thirst was rapidly overtaking nausea in physical demands and so it was with a surge of hope that he saw a nurse run into his room, pushing a rattling trolley in front of her.

She stopped abruptly and stared at her very much awake patient. "You're not coding!"

It was an accusation more than a question, and Terry shrugged. She wasn't the Voice, so hopefully he'd get some water out of her and not a swift trip back under. She pushed the trolley – a crash cart? – to one side and grabbed his chart. She flipped through a few pages, checked the heart monitor and smiled wanly at him.

"So, Mr King, you decided to join the land of the living today?"

'_Mr King?'_

All that emerged vocally was an unintelligible croak and the nurse made a quick note on the chart before smiling again and saying, "How about some ice, Mr King?"

Terry didn't care if she thought he was Hitler, just as long as she brought ice, so he nodded. She disappeared with the crash cart and Terry found himself wondering why it had taken them so long to respond to a supposed 'crash' and why she was alone in doing so.

His questions and hopes died when the nurse returned, because accompanying her was the Voice. He had no idea how he knew that the Nurse, whose cool displeasure at seeing him awake, was 'the Voice' but he was certain she was. She did not look happy at all.

"Awake I see."

'_Yep, definitely the Voice.'_

Not-the-Voice Nurse sullenly gave him some ice, as the Voice checked his chart. If he could, Terry would have kissed Sullen Nurse, the ice felt so good and without prompting, she gave him some more.

The Voice looked up and said, "Need something for the pain, Mr King?"

'_Hell, yes!'_. Terry shook his head and savoured the cool ice instead. The pain could wait.

Feeling that his voice had sufficient lubricant now, Terry croaked, "Where the hell am I?"

Ok, so belligerent was a tad too much, judging by both nurses' expressions, but slag it, he hurt, he was pissed at being tied down and well, he just plain didn't like their attitude.

"You're at Santa Anna Clinic."

More ice momentarily shut him up but he was pretty sure that he knew all the clinics and hospitals in Gotham and that Santa Anna wasn't one of them. So he asked unevenly, "Gotham?"

A strange look passed between the two nurses, and the Voice said, "No, Mr King. You are in San Francisco."

'_San Francisco? Again with the Mr King?'_

"McGinnis."

Again they shared a look and Terry cleared his throat and said as clearly as he could, "My name is Terry McGinnis."

Not-the-Voice Nurse put the ice chips down and fished out a small flashlight which she shone at Terry's eyes, lifting up his eyelids as he squinted and said to Voice, "There was no indication of head trauma in the chart. And his pupils are clear."

"Hey!" Terry jerked his head away and growled, "I damn well know who I am, you're the ones who've got me mixed up with someone else!"

"Of course we are the ones mistaken, Mr King. I suppose you just happen to have someone else's fingerprints, social security number and DNA. Obvious really." The Voice was avidly making notes even as she spoke and Not-the-Voice was giving Terry an insincere look of pity.

"Huh?" He inadvertently pulled against the restraints and a sharp jab of pain shot through his chest. "Shit!"

Voice studied him over the rims of her glasses, looking down her nose at him and she said stiffly, "Such language is unnecessary, Mr King but I can see you are getting upset, perhaps another dose?"

"NO! Tell me what the hell is going on!"

Sighing dramatically, Voice said in a tone designed to calm the unhinged but in reality only pushed them further off the edge, "Your name, sir, is Jake King. Born on the 6th June 2036 in Santa Cruz, California. You live at 18 Firwood Road in Hayward and work for Wayne Enterprises California as a Sales Rep."

'_Wayne?'_

The Voice continued, "You were in a near fatal car accident about month ago and have been under our care since being transferred from Mercy General two weeks ago. Any of that ring any bells, sir?"

Confused, Terry shook his head. Wayne? Was this related to Batman somehow? Was he under an assumed name for his own protection or something? Car crash? No helpful memories came flooding back and while he wondered if he shouldn't just play along, Terry asked, "There anything in there about family, or friends?"

Voice glanced over the information and offered a piteous smile, "It seems you are an orphan, Mr King. No parents listed, only a Frank Hunter who it appears is your boss at Wayne Enterprises."

"No little brother?" _or Max, or Barbara, or Tim even…?_

"No," the Voice nodded at the other nurse who left without a backward glance and she said, "I understand this may seem confusing, Mr King, but it is true. Perhaps if you let me increase your…"

Terry decided that he needed to sort his own memories out first before probing any further but he had to know one thing. "San Francisco? You sure? We're not in Gotham?"

The Voice stared at him for a moment before walking briskly to the darkened window. She punched in a few numbers and the window 'opened' to show a spectacular view of the Bay on a fine sunny day.

"We're rather proud of our excellent view. Santa Anna is located on some prime real estate. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Terry stared. It looked like San Francisco but… could it be some elaborate hoax? Vidscreens projected incredibly realistic pictures… why though? Why make him think he was on the West Coast? Why the different name?

"Is it real?" He asked, not really expecting an answer and the Voice raised a carefully shaped and plucked eyebrow. "Hmmm… I see we can add paranoia to the list, Mr King."

"It's McGinnis and I'm not paranoid!" _Much. Hell, Bruce can make a rock paranoid._

"Of course you're not, sir."

She was watching him carefully and Terry knew she was looking for an excuse to increase his dose again. Unfortunately, he was loosing the battle with the pain and wouldn't actually mind… but first.

"Why restraints?"

Her face went blank and a jolt of alarm went up his spine. Unsure why, he waited uneasily as she approached. "They were a precaution only. You were thrashing about great deal. Your dreams seemed quite… violent."

'_Ah huh..'_

"I suppose, now that you are awake…" Again Terry sensed her displeasure with that fact, but he brightened noticeably as she began to unbuckle one of the wrist restraints.

"Although, since you are exhibiting signs of delusion, Mr King, maybe it's not wise to remove them so soon." She paused, watching him. Tempted to play along, just to get the slagging things off, Terry said, "I'm fine. Not going anywhere soon anyway, right?"

"Right."

She unbuckled the soft padded leather and Terry stretched his arm, wincing at the stiff muscles but immensely pleased. It was somewhat belatedly that Terry realised that Voice was right next to his drip and even as he turned his head to check on her, he felt the all too familiar wave of drowsiness sweep over him.

His free arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. She gasped at his surprisingly strong grip and she hissed, "Mr King!"

"It's McGinnis and I…"

The blackness swallowed the rest up and Terry felt himself falling and then there was nothing.

Voice watched impassively as he succumbed and couldn't help wincing when his hand fell away. Rubbing the red mark on her wrist, she noted his even pattern of breathing and steady heart rhythm. She waited until she was sure he was well and truly asleep before picking up the restraint and none too gently placing his wrist back inside it. Buckling it nice and tight, she patted the material with absent fondness. Moving around the bed, she checked the other restraints, tightening his other hand too. Finally, she picked up the bowl of ice chips and placed it on the bedside table, right where he could see it when he awoke.

And with that, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

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"Hey, Matt. Matt!"

Matthew McGinnis, newly retired superhero, didn't turn around. He knew she would race to catch up to him, and as she drew near, he said, "Hey, Chris."

"Hey. Where were you Friday? You missed a schway party, man."

"Uh huh."

Chris rarely, if ever, actually listened to Matt, so she blithely continued, "Yeah, Suzie made a complete twip of herself over Marc, just about threw herself at him when he came in wearing a schway jacket and a new do. Mike and Rotten nearly got into it over a v-Foot game and, and Fran actually downed an entire shot of Nethers!"

She was laughing now, and continued excitedly describing the rest of the party, but Matt wasn't listening. He had absolutely no intention of telling her about his Friday night and usually if you let Chris ramble to her hearts content, she forgot to ask questions - or even breath at times.

Matt was heading towards his locker and for the first time in a week, was actually on time for school. Chris had a locker two doors from his, whereas Danny, his best friend had managed to get the locker right next to his. Danny was already there, foraging inside his locker, undoubtedly searching for a lost piece of homework.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Matt knew Danny was mad and he also knew why. It was mostly because Matt hadn't helped him out with their American History project and that they had both got Ds, which Danny couldn't afford, not with his old man pushing him to get into Gotham U. But mostly Danny was mad because his best friend had turned into a dreg over the last month and wouldn't tell him what was wrong.

Matt pressed his thumb against the lock and his locker sprang open. Chris, it seemed, had finished her story of party heaven and was happily emptying her bag into her locker and checking her make up in the mirror – at the same time. Matt tried to think what their first class was and turned to ask Danny, but he was gone, already heading down the hall to Home Room.

Cursing, he slammed the door shut and barely noted that his 'Behaviour Monitor' had dipped in response to the swear words. His 'BM' was already on an all time low, so he doubted he'd get more than a cautionary message from Mr Towers. Chris was still preening and Matt didn't really feel like broaching the floodgates by asking her anything, so he mumbled a goodbye which she cheerfully returned.

Home Room was at the other end of the corridor, and Matt slowly made his way through the crowds of kids, trying not think of anything at all. Out of habit he looked up at one of beams that stretched across the corridor, and read the words spray painted across it.

'Terry McGinnis is a Dreg!'

Rumour had it that the custodian had tried every remover known to custodial staff and some not, to get the graffiti off. Again according to rumour, Flash or Nash someone-or-other had used a weird compound to leave his final message to Hamilton High, and had nearly not graduated for it.

The thing was, the graffiti had sort of become part of Hamilton High itself. In the years since kids had been crossing out the 'Dreg' and leaving their own message. Currently it read 'Terry McGinnis is HOT!' and no doubt, by the end of the day, the custodian would have returned it to its original glory.

'_Hell, the twip probably doesn't even know who Terry is! Some freshmen doing it on a dare or…'_

Matt looked away from the hot pink letters and sighed. Like the custodian, he knew that at some point during the day, the graffiti would be added to and Terry would once again move from Dreg status to Hot Babe, or Schwayness, or Super Dooper'. Gag.

'_Stupid tradition, stupid Freshmen, stupid Custodian and Stoopid Terry!' _

Matt slouched into Home Room and found a desk as far from Danny as he could.

'_Stupid Danny.'_

Their Home Room teacher hadn't arrived yet, so Matt logged onto the School's net and noted, that yes indeed, Mr Towers had sent him a cautionary message about Language Abuse.

'_Stupid Towers. Stupid BM.' _

Routinely he checked through his list of outstanding homework, barely noticing the amount of incompletes. He ignored the messages from Principal Marten and Counsellor Towers, skipped the few 'Where the hell are you's from Danny and pointedly deleted anything from Bruce Wayne.

There wasn't much anyway.

The old twip hadn't even tried to call him since Friday night. Matt really really wanted to hang up on the dreg – really! He supposed that Wayne thought he'd come crawling back, desperate for news or anything, like a … a… loser-twip! Well, he wasn't going to!

'_Screw Wayne. Screw Batman. Screw Terry!' _

It wasn't his fault that he sucked at being Batman – that was all Wayne. But it was Terry's fault that he had to be humiliated like this. Forced over and over again to acknowledge that Terry was better than him, better at being Batman, a hero, a school rebel, a frigging son!

Matt didn't ever remember Terry having the kind of fight that he and his Mom had had when he came home late on Friday. No, definitely not. Terry hadn't ever made their Mom cry like that.

"Jerk."

It was half-hearted, but the BM on his desk registered it and Matt sighed, and thought miserably to himself, _'Yeah, great brother you are. Terry's in a coma somewhere and all you can do is whine about him, like a loser. You know what, McGinnis, you're the jerk.'_

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'_Commissioner Gordon is going to be problem.'_

Bruce Wayne sat staring at the cray screen, thinking. His last conversation with Barbara Gordon, Commissioner of Police, had not gone particularly well. Most of the conversation had involved shouting, and a few threats, all from Gordon. She was irate and apparently accident prone vigilantes were not on her list of favourite people. The Mayor was angry, the Bank President of Gotham Savings was angry, the DAs office was angry and they were all calling her. Yes, Gotham was angry at Batman and she wanted to know why. Well, why and 'what in the hell Terry was doing?' followed by multiple question marks and exclamation points.

She hadn't really bought the explanation about a new crimelord in town and Terry pretending to be inept in order to allay his fears about vigilante justice and get him to expose himself. In fact, she had called him a liar and wanted to know the real story. He had tried the trademark Wayne glare. That failed. He tried the Batman glare. That failed too. Remembering belatedly that Batgirl wouldn't be all that intimidated by him, so he tried equivocation and misdirection.

Terry was acting weird for a reason. That reason would soon become clear. There was a new player in the criminal underworld and it was related to Terry's behaviour. And the fewer the people who knew, the better.

She didn't buy it.

But Bruce had waited for her to take a breath and had calmly said, "Trust me."

He could tell she wasn't happy about it and had threatened to personally drag Terry's ass downtown and read him the riot act if there were any more accidents, but she backed down. It seemed that trust was still a viable playing card.

It wasn't the best reasoning he had ever laid out and probably didn't come close to his usual 'plans' but at least she wasn't ordering the cops into the Batcave. Cursing to himself, Bruce stood and wearily made his way out of the cave.

He hated being old. At least the Twip had taken himself off and wasn't hanging around asking annoying questions and sticking his nose into things best left alone. He knew the kid would come when called. He would come reluctantly, but he'd come and Bruce still had plans for him.

He entered the main body of the Manor and briefly caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Scowling, he turned away and limped up the stairs. '_Ugly old git.'_ Maybe it was time for Commissioner Gordon to meet his 'special' friend. He had only planned on removing her later, but he had forgotten about the Batgirl connection. A little pre-emptive visit was definitely in order.

After all, if he could take out Batman, Batgirl would be a piece of cake.

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Nftw: I… uhm… got distracted this week. Work got busy, I found a really good Nightwing fanfic and well.. chapter 6 is not written. Usually I don't post a chapter without having the next one either finished, or just about complete so, technically I should not be posting this, you should not be reading this … but I promised I would post it, so here you are.

Chapter 6 is still mental and will _probably_ only get posted next weekend, but no promises. It has a name though: The Cooler King. 10 kudos points if you recognise the name.

Reviews? shrug if you want to… : )


	6. The Cooler King

Chapter 6 – the Cooler King

The room was silent, just as it should be. No alarms, no determined efforts, no fuss. Smiling to herself, Nurse Claire von Stahl stepped into the hospital room and froze. The bed was empty.

Quickly she moved to the bed and stared at the rumpled sheets – stunned. "Not possible," she muttered to herself as she fingered the useless hand restraint on the side of the bed. Realising that the leather was a little wet, she looked down and saw teeth marks on its smooth surface.

"Well, well."

The rest of the room left her no other clues though. She was almost positive that he had not managed to escape the hospital yet and was about to leave and alert security when she remembered the small on-suite bathroom. She had kept the door locked but as she tried the handle, it opened smoothly.

He barely acknowledged her entrance, as if he had been expecting her. He was slightly hunched over the white sink, staring at his reflection. The stark fluorescent light glared off his pale torso, highlighting his broad chest and muscled back. A few old scars could be seen, but it was the new ones across his chest that drew his attention. Noticing his white-knuckled grip on the basin, she smirked and said, "A little bit too eager, aren't we?"

His eyes noticeably hardened and he growled, "Car accident?" His voice betrayed the effort it was costing him to remain upright and his left leg was visibly shaking as he struggled to keep the weight off his right. She shrugged in reply, "That's what the police report said."

With a surprising show of strength, he turned to face her, a sceptical expression on his face. He had pulled off his bandages and she could see the still healing wounds slashed across his chest, bright red lines against his pale skin. The worst, a stab wound near his heart was neatly stitched and she smiled reassuringly, "You are healing nicely, Mr King. I should probably take those stitches out. Come with me."

She didn't offer a hand, and he made no move towards her. Normally she could outstare the most recalcitrant patient, but his cool regard was unnerving. Hiding her sudden nerves, Claire smiled again and said, "Tell you what, I'll get a copy of the police report for you and can read it for yourself."

Unconvinced he continued to stare at her and she wondered how he had the strength to keep so still. Since the smile wasn't working, she tried a frown and said sternly, "Mr King, you really should get back in bed before you fall and hurt yourself, I don't want to have to call Security."

Nothing.

Sighing, she turned to leave the tiny room when he said, "I need to make a phonecall."

Smiling again, she turned back and nodded understandingly, "Of course, Mr King. Come with me and I'll arrange that for you." He waited a few moments, studying her face before he began to move slowly towards the door. He ignored her offer to help and stiffly followed her to the bed. She waited as he sat down, noting all of his hesitations and grimaces.

"Let's take out the stitches and dress your wounds, Mr King." She waited but he said nothing and concentrated on breathing instead. After fetching a tray she efficiently removed the stitches, cleaned the wounds and rewrapped his chest. Throughout it all, he made no sound and simply watched her. On her part, she ignored him, refusing to comment on how a 'car accident' would leave such wounds.

Once finished, she studied his face critically and said, "Perhaps you should lie down, Mr King. I can replace the IV and…"

"No…" his voice shook, but his glare made up for the lapse, "Just give me a damn pill or something. No more tubes, no more needles.'

"You still need those tubes, sir and I doubt…"

"No, what I need is a vidphone." He stared at her pointedly, "Now."

Pursing her lips and shaking her head in disapproval, she grabbed the tray and stalked out of the room.

Terry fought off a wave of dizziness and tried to clear his head. He needed to talk to Bruce, needed to find out what in the hell was going on.

"Car accident, my ass."

It was pretty damn scary seeing injuries you didn't remember getting. He had a few bruises here and there, but they were already yellow and healing. It was the long, deep slashes on his chest, arms, legs, and hell, everywhere that were off. They looked like knife wounds, or … a sword? Surely, he'd remember a sword-wielding bad guy?

The sound of brisk footsteps broke this train of thought and a shiver ran down his spine when he realised there were several people approaching his room. True to form, Voice arrived, without a vidphone but with two large male nurses.

Sending up a silent plea for strength, Terry stared at her and waited. She seemed pleased and said smoothly, "Now, Mr King. You really need to lie down and allow us to help you. I don't want this to get ugly, but doctors orders are doctors orders."

Tilting his head a little, Terry asked with little hope, "I don't suppose I could see this 'doctor', first?"

"No."

Terry rather deliberately scanned the male nurses and figured they would prove to be too much for him to handle. Torn between defying The Voice and preventing her from having a reason to sedate him, Terry opted for defiance – she'd probably sedate him no matter what happened. He said, "How about a quick stroll around the grounds, Nurse Ratchet? The fresh air will do wonders for your complexion."

She smirked and shook her head before saying, "Lie down, Mr King."

"Make me."

Nurse von Stahl smiled, "Boys."

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For decades the Batcave had been the nerve centre for vigilante activity in Gotham. Its sombre atmosphere, deep silence and gloomy recesses suited its master. The walls had witnessed a plethora of human activity, some of which had even resulted in damage to the cave itself. Tonight however, it was silent. No gentle hum of computers, no brooding presence, no thirst for justice. Just silence.

Well, right up until a bright red motorcycle screamed up the ramp and came to a squealing stop, narrowly missing the parked Batmobile. Matt leapt off his bike and ran towards the costume alcove. Noting Wayne's absence and that he owed someone a thank you for that, he quickly stripped down and struggled into the suit.

He raced to the Batmobile, climbed in and then immediately clambered out, moved his bike and then got back inside the car. He stared at the array of instruments, dials, buttons and screens and said confidently, "Right. Just drive it, McGinnis. Ignore the fancy stuff, just drive it. Just like in the arcade."

He refused to listen to the remainder of the thought, about how an arcade game didn't end up with him killing himself and others – for real. Keying up the ignition, he grasped the wheel firmly and said, "No time for nerves, Matt. Got to go – got to go!"

Gently, he accelerated and steered the car out of the cave, before picking up speed in the open air. The batmobile's custom speed usually meant that the trip from cave to Gotham was pretty much instantaneous, but as Matt drove at a much more sedate speed, he used the time to think.

His primary thought wa how on earth he was going to find her. He had absolutely no idea where to start or what to do or … anything! It had already been close to 48 hours and the cops were now involved. What the slag was 'he' the great Batso, destroyer of buildings and slayer of muggers, Matt the Clutz McGinnis going to do?

Matt shook his head, dispelling his doubts and shoving them under the figurative bed, with the rest of the stuff he tried to ignore. There was no way in frigging hell that he was staying at home, conscientiously doing his homework when Danny's sister was missing. Not when he knew about this car, and the suit and certainly not when he could help – maybe.

A little less than an hour ago he had bitten the bullet, taken the bull by the horns, grabbed the clown by his nose, whatever the twip saying was and called Danny to apologise, to try redeem something of their friendship. He never expected Danny burst into tears when he saw Matt on the vidscreen. Having prepared himself for the cold shoulder, the angry glare or the immediate hang up, he had been shocked to find that he was providing a shoulder to cry on. Well, not 'physically' cry on, but nonetheless there was crying involved.

Danny covered up the tears pretty quickly, and the awkward silence that usually developed between two teenage boys when 'waterworks' where involved nearly ended the conversation, until Matt said, "What's wrong?"

Megan, Danny's sister was missing. She had gone over to their mom's house on Sunday and had not returned – had not even arrived there at all. Danny's mom thought Megan had changed her mind and Danny's dad thought she was with Mom and its wasn't until Mom called Dad to find out why Megan changed her mind, on Monday night no less, that both realised that Megan was missing. The cops where taking statements and doing cop things, but there was a distinct air of hopelessness in their house. If you went missing in Gotham, the likelihood of being found, at all, was so small that most people were presumed dead from the start.

Matt had stammered the appropriate gasps of shock and hopeless assurances while Danny numbly nodded. After spilling the details, he seemed lost, unable to utter another word. Matt, unsure as to what to say and already desperate the end the call and get to the Batcave, said something about hope and holding on or some meaningless rubbish that neither of them believed but Danny seemed to appreciate it.

'Thanks, Matt. I'll .. I'll call you.'

And with that – the friendship was fixed, reassuring smiles shared and the call ended. Now Matt, desperate friend in a borrowed Batsuit, was winging his way through Gotham, hoping to help.

Thought processes complete and coming up blank on a viable plan, Matt turned on the police scanner to hear if the cops had had any luck. The idle chatter about break-ins, arrests, 10-4s, 10-8s and even 10-20s revealed nothing and as Matt reached over to turn it off, a Patrolman called in a disturbance at the Golden Palace on 3rd. Someone had started a fight over a fortune cookie.

Ignoring the amused comments from the dispatchers, Matt cursed himself six ways from Sunday for being a stupid lazy ass twip and began typing a search on the small computer linked to the Batcave's computers.

'_Jade and her damn Palace.'_

Refusing to dwell on how he could be wrong, that Megan was just missing and not kidnapped by a brothel that specialised in underage sex, Matt watched as the information from Terry's previous bust came up on the screen.

Suddenly, the proximity alarm went off and Matt looked up to see the C Line elevated train heading straight for him. Its rapidly approaching lights filled the car and Matt stared at it for a couple of pounding heartbeats before his brain kicked in and he swerved wildly out of the train's path. Luckily there was no other traffic in the vicinity and a very shaken Matt pulled the car into a quiet alley, somewhere in the financial district.

Breathing heavily and trying to calm his racing heart, Matt stared at the death grip he had on the steering wheel. "Eyes on the road. Eyes. Road. Eyes. Road."

The soft beep alerting him to a search completed, drew his eyes to the screen and eagerly he read the address and details of the Palace. The computer gave him the option of downloading the address into the car, which he okayed and then the car gave him the option for auto-drive to that address.

Wondering why in the hell it hadn't done that before and spared him the trauma of trying to drive the temperamental thing, he okayed that too. Instantly the Batmobile drove off, at a speed he was definitely not okay with, but the onboard computer easily navigated its way through the busier streets of night-time Gotham, with nary a near-accident in sight.

"I swear, Terry, if this is how you manage to drive this insane car, I'm going to kill you. And then I'm going to write a strongly worded letter to Wayne and deliver it with my fist. Dreg."

They arrived without incident and as the car made a sweep of the area Matt noted an array of red and blue lights and swarm of cop cars parked outside the Palace. Smiling, he waited as the car parked itself on a nearby rooftop and only gave it a mini-glare as he climbed out. Maybe the GCPD had found her – maybe she was home already.

He made his way to a rooftop that overlooked the Palace and tried to spot Megan in the crowds below. There were so many people down there – policemen, johns, curious neighbours and irate working girls that it was difficult to see anyone clearly.

He made the lenses in his cowl zoom in on the crowd, and he peered intently, trying to make out faces in the poor lighting. There was a flash of gold at the edge of the crowd and Matt saw a small woman, maybe a girl, being put in a police cruiser. He craned over the edge, trying to see inside the cruiser and as he zoomed out for a better angle, he saw a cop staring up at his roof – straight at him. The cop seemed to know he was looking at her now and she mouthed 'Stay there,' and held up her hand indicating 5.

Perplexed, Matt didn't move and watched as she turned to speak to another officer. Did Batman take orders from cops? Was she an informant or something? The computer inside the Batmobile blipped to get his attention and a soft melodic voice calmly informed him that no Megan Green had been booked or 'found' by the cops at the Palace bust.

Wondering first why no one had told him the damn thing could speak, and second why he was surprised it could – afterall 'state of the art' was Wayne's middle name, that and 'lousy old dreg', Matt sighed at hitting a dead end. Feeling a little silly talking to himself, he said "Computer ..ah… search all police … ah … bands for mention of Megan Green."

'Processing request.'

Pleased, Matt stood and watched as the lady cop below made her way around the building and it wasn't long until he heard her climbing the fire-escape. Not entirely comfortable around policemen to begin with and especially now dressed as the vigilante who ruined their schway bust, Matt stepped back into the shadows and waited for her to find him.

As she cleared the roof, she automatically searched the shadows and seemed to spot him despite his efforts. Walking towards the inky blackness, she said, "So what's your interest with the Palace? We only got the tip that Jade was back, yesterday. Moved in on it as soon as we could."

Squashing a feeling of guilt, glad that she couldn't see his expression behind the cowl and comforting darkness, he tried out his Batman voice and said, "There's a missing girl, Megan Green. Thought she might be here."

She looked at him oddly, and replied, "How long has she been missing for?"

"Since Sunday."

Lady Cop pulled out small hand-held and made a few notations before saying, "She hasn't appeared on any of the ID scans and you know that Jade and her boys keep any 'new' girls out of sight until the heat dies down. Is there… you got a cold, or something?"

Matt cleared his throat as quietly as he could and tried again, keen for more information, "Where.. where do they keep the new girls?"

Again he got an odd look and she smoothed her hair unnecessarily before sighing, "If the Palace is open for business again, then I guess the Cage is too. If she'd been nabbed by these guys, she'll be there."

Matt felt his stomach sink. '_Slag it. She thinks I know what she's talking about. Where the hell is this cage? Maybe the computer will know.'_

She was staring at him, waiting for him. He nearly smiled, but then stopped himself. Did Batman smile at cops? Even friendly, helpful, kinda cute cops like her? Deciding to abandon the voice for now, Matt said quietly, "Thanks. I'll go check it out."

He started to get up and was about to activate his jets when he felt someone catch hold of his hand and he heard her say, "Wait, I…"

'_She's holding my hand?'_

Matt stared at her, and she seemed stunned to find herself holding onto him too, but she didn't let go. "I… I know we're… friends … ah … and you don't… that is… we… I … I was …worried about you."

She tightened her grasp, squeezing his fingers.

'_Just how many 'friends' does Terry have in Gotham anyway?'_

"I mean, I haven't seen you in over a month and while we're not… not … anything… I thought … I was worried."

'_Think McGinnis, think!'_ Matt shrugged and tried to sound reassuring as he said, "Sorry, it's been a … bad month." He didn't want to be rude and just yank his hand away but she was looking at him in a way that made him very nervous.

"So, you're okay?"

He nodded and she dropped his hand, seemingly reluctantly. Her badge flashed momentarily in the light as she stepped away, creating more space between them. "If you'll wait a few minutes, I'll get a few squad cars to go down with you…"

"No, thanks. I'll be ok. See you." Matt fired his rockets and flew over the building as quick as he could, refusing to look back. There wasn't time to be nice to pretty cops – he had to find Megan.

"Computer – locate the Cage for me."

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The restraints were now high tech and metal – teeth weren't going to help him now. Finding himself restrained, again, hadn't been all that surprising but realising that the nasal tube, drip, and catheter were back as well, was disheartening. Obviously he was supposed to stay exactly were he was – no change in the status quo.

He had tried desperately to remember something, anything about how he may have got here, but it remained a blank. He remembered going on a recon to the Deadzone and … that was it. No memories of plans about going undercover in the hospital from hell or even being hurt. Was Bruce ok? Was he looking for him or was it part a plan he just didn't remember? Or had some weird enemy captured him and was now holding him in a bizarre set up, waiting for ransom, or something… maybe confirmation that he was Batman?

Whatever it was, Terry had had enough. His brief walk to and from the bathroom had left him drained and shaking, but it hadn't been as bad as he feared. Hell, if he got some physical therapy and real food, he'd be up and about in no time, on the mend. Which was probably why he hadn't even seen a therapist walk by, let alone 'real' food.

The Voice had not replaced the heart monitors so there were no traitorous alarms announcing his return to awareness, but Terry knew with certainty that she'd come around shortly and send him back to lala land. He needed to get out, contact Bruce and find out what was going on. To hell with any plans he might ruin, he wasn't going to just lay back and let this happen. Everything about this felt wrong and Bruce had spent years trying to drill good detective instincts into him and now, those hard won instincts were screaming at him.

Using what time he had, Terry pulled himself up, ignoring the pain and studied the new restraints. They looked simple enough and he was certain he could escape them, given time. Having a walking encyclopaedia for a boss was great for circumstances like these. It also helped that in the struggle with the male nurses earlier he had palmed a few handy items from them. These 'gifts' were safely tucked beneath his pillow. He'd have to have a plan this time – and actually make it out of the hospital, otherwise Nurse Voice would have him in a coma – permanently.

Footsteps.

Cursing softly, Terry lay back and stared up at the ceiling. He tried to calm down, tried to push away the anger and fear. He needed time to think, he needed to plan. He most certainly didn't have time – or the energy – to worry. What was going on at home? Was Bruce ok? His mom, Matt? Were they worried? Hell, Max would be back by now. Her internship in Philadelphia would have finished weeks ago. Was anyone looking for him? Better yet, did they know he was missing? Was he missing?

Taking a deep breath, one that made his chest ache, and pulled at stitches, Terry firmly closed the door on those thoughts. He needed to think.

'_Okay, McGinnis, here's the plan. Play dead, plan an escape, annoy the crap out of Voice, get out, phone Bruce, wail on him if this is some slagging twip plan of his and then … do whatever the hell you want."_

Great plan.

"Mr King?"

Terry ignored her and tried to get his sluggish brain working. _'Sure and while I'm at it I'll solve world hunger, write the great American novel and get Bruce a date for the Seniors 'Senior Prom' No problem….'_

'_Yeah right.'_

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'The Cage' turned out to be a derelict club near the Deadzone. Mindful of his last excursion in the Deadzone, and Terry's, Matt was glad that the building was still within the 'Alive-zone' and as he scanned the building, he couldn't help feel a little proud of himself.

His first night out as Batman – solo, without the old dreg hovering on his shoulder, or in his ear, and there had been no crashes, no bad landings, no embarrassing moments, no near fatalities. '_Not bad, Matt. Not bad.'_

But Megan still wasn't home yet and he could be on the Mother Goose of all wild goose chases and come morning – still be a failure. His thermal scan of the building told him that there were people inside, just not if those people were Megan. Figuring that even if he didn't find Megan here, at least some parent somewhere might get their child back.

'_OK. Plan of attack?'_ Matt thought about various options, discarded most of them as plans he'd likely screw up and settled for the simplest.

And so, the pair of resident and cliché bad guys keeping watch over the new merchandise, were treated to the sight of The Batman breaking down their door, rather thoroughly. Both reached for their guns but Batman rocketed towards them and knocked both into the concrete wall behind them. A swift punch and kick later, and Batman stood triumphant.

The all too familiar sound of a gun being loaded behind him had Matt firing his rockets again towards the two new goons. Goon 1 he tackled full on and managed to wrestle his gun away, before Goon 2 opened fire. Running faster than he knew he could, Matt sprinted through the old club, trying to find cover behind the tables or bar. Either Goon 2 was a very poor shot, or Matt was better at dodging bullets than he realised. He figured on the poor shot option.

Hunkered down behind the large bar, Matt waited for Goon 2 to run out of ammunition and true to form and vid shows the world around, he did just that. Without really thinking about it, he reached for a batarang and threw it. Goon 1, who was groggily getting to his feet, got the batarang in the face and Goon 2 belatedly toppled over a few seconds later, laid low by the cloud of gas that the 'bat' released.

Stunned, Matt stood up and stared at the pair. _'That was pure luck – pure rotten-where-the-hell-were-you-before luck!'_

After that, finding the kids stuffed away in the basement was almost anti-climatic. None of them moved when he opened the door, they all stared up at him, a dark silhouette in a bright doorway. As his flashlight flickered over their faces, he saw a few smiles when they recognised who he was and then it was his turn to smile as one of those faces turned out to be Megan Green.

He had just managed to herd the excited crowd of kids out of the basement and towards the doors when the delightful sound of squad cars arriving filled the air. Megan was in his arms, clutching tight to her rescuer, surprised and pleased that she warranted special attention from Batman.

The first police officer through the broken door was Matt's, or rather Terry's friend from before, Officer Delaney, if Matt remembered reading her name tag correctly. Catching sight of Batman surrounded by a mess of kids, she snorted softly and re-holstered her weapon. "Well at least you don't need to wait for a warrant when working with you, Batman. Nice work."

Matt gave her a mega-watt grin and glanced down at Megan. She smiled back at him and he felt himself grow a little taller.

'_So this is what being a superhero feels like.'_

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Nftw: Alex Ross, comic artist extraordinaire, has a wonderful picture of Bruce Wayne looking at his battle scars. You can see the picture on Alex Ross's website (somewhere in the gallery I think) and it partly inspired Terry's scene in the bathroom – his beginning of a 'scar collection'.

If you can't find it on the website, I'm happy to email it to you.

Reviews, like chocolate, will be devoured on sight.


	7. Chasing Butterflies

Chapter 7 – Chasing Butterflies

'_Well, I would never have imagined it. Nope. Not him. Of all the hopeless, dead end loser dregs in this school, I never imagined Matt McGinnis being the one to actually make an effort towards being a real human being. The twip has been nothing but a pain in the rear for years. Always with an excuse or long face about doing anything remotely physical. Hell, you would have thought that I had told him to run to Metropolis when the class does laps. And the mini-death glare! Hell, I received worse from blind budgies! I had him pegged on the hopeless case list last year, after that embarrassing tag football game but now…._

_Who would have thought?_

_Matt McGinnis, actually, honest to God, climbing a rope – willingly. Heck, he even asked me for tips. And I swear I saw him doing push-ups yesterday – pansy half assed ones, but I counted at least 5, which was more than the usual one he gives me. _

_Go figure._

_And someone, and I struggle to believe its him, has been using the boxing simulator after hours. I thought it was Georgie trying to relive some of his glory days, but the scores are too low. And the simulator's kung fu and karate programmes had been run too – also with dismal results… it's probably not McGinnis, but why do I feel like there's a secret training programme being run ineptly in my gym. _

_Oh, saints preserve us! The twip kid made to the top of the rope and figured the best way down is a swan dive! He's damn lucky I had my mats laid out at the bottom of the ropes. Those mats sure save on the amount of whinging klutzs and faked injuries… well, he's picked himself up and … is climbing again?_

_Sheesh, don't tell me my nice bell curve is going to be screwed with McGinnis actually earning something more than his usual D! _

_Maybe I should run a random drug screening – maybe the kid is high and thinks he's Superman or … maybe he's doing it for a bet or … maybe … did he just land on Diego – on purpose?_

_I should never have quit teaching English.'_

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'_Ahhh, man alive, I needed that. If Joel made a quadruple espresso, I'd down two of those, but three triples… perfect. And he still gives cops a discount. Guess us making his little java place a compulsory patrol stop is good for business. Most Jokerz aren't stupid enough to bother cops on their coffee breaks – caffeine depravation is a scary thing. Maybe I should call my book that – 'Crimes prevented by Coffee' or 'Java Cops' or …'_

Greg Fisher took another sip of his triple triple espresso and smacked his lips together in appreciation. _'So good, so good.'_

He was sitting in the passenger side of his patrol car, waiting for his partner to finish 'fishing'. She thought it was hilarious that Officer Fisher had the best network of snitches in Gotham and that his 'fishing' expeditions usually landed something slightly larger than a bass. The story of the bust at the fish packing plant had become precinct legend. One of Fisher's fishes had tipped him off about slice being smuggled in snapper and when the SWAT guys busted down the door, two of them had slipped in a pile of fish guts and ended up knocking over several barrels worth of waste. Every single officer on that bust had walked away smelly very 'fishy' and so, the legend of Fisher was born. Even the puns had began to smell after awhile.

So naturally, Officer Delaney referred to her own 'info' gathering efforts as 'fishing', much to Fisher's begrudging delight. Besides, Fisher had more than enough on Delaney to make her squirm if she got too cheeky. His little 'fishies' told him some very interesting stories. He had hinted a few times at what he knew and judging by her red face at the smallest inference, he knew he was onto something.

And now, here he sat, waiting for her. She was only a few feet away, talking to someone in a darkened alley. Whoever her 'fish' was, Officer Fisher couldn't see but Delaney was far enough away from the shadows that he didn't fear the guy trying to jump her or something.

She seemed relaxed, and scanned the surrounding area often but otherwise all seemed fine. She suddenly nodded and began walking back to the squad car. Sitting up straighter and placing his coffee in the cupholder near him, Fisher idly noted the Elevated B Line hurtling overhead. Checking the time on the chrono, he shook his head. _'Late again.'_

It was then, with the lights of the train overhead spilling down on the dim streets and buildings below that Greg saw him. There was a flash of red wings, two points of light and briefly a silhouette on the roof that was gone by the time the next window flashed by.

_Batman._

An evil grin broke across Greg's face and he tried to smother it as Delaney approached the car. She was busy fiddling with her radio and wasn't looking at him, so by the time she climbed into the driver's seat, Greg had his poker face on. And he was a very good poker player.

"Anything interesting?"

Delaney smiled as she pressed the ignition and nodded, "Yeah."

Greg waited. "And?"

Delaney checked her mirrors, and slowly pulled the car out into the road and said over her shoulder, "Call despatch, Fish."

Mock sighing, he informed despatch that they were resuming their patrol and waited as Delaney turned out onto 7th before saying, "AND?"

Keeping her eyes on the road, Delaney smiled again, "Someone has been trying to shake down Tony Nicoletti and isn't being too subtle about it."

Taking another sip of his coffee Greg mused, "Can't be Marconi, Tony is one of his and Jokerz don't shake you down unless they're pretending you're a salt cellar or something. Neski?"

"Maybe. Anyway, the interesting this is - Tony hasn't asked Marconi for protection. He's just hired more muscle."

"That is interesting. Lane is going love this."

Silence fell over the pair as Fisher finished his coffee and Delaney slowly drove up 7th, running a sharp eye on the busy street. Supposedly, Greg watched his side of the street, but kept half an eye on Delaney. She was smiling to herself a little, and when she ran a hand over her smooth hair, which was pulled back in a tight ponytail, Greg smiled too. And when Delaney checked her make up in the rear view mirror for the third time, Greg cleared his throat meaningfully and said, "Hot date tonight?"

Normally she would have laughed and told him to mind his own business, but her face went bright red and her laugh failed to mask the nervous gulp. "Never you mind, Fisher."

Leaning back into the seat, Greg smirked at her, "So, tall, dark and handsome or short, blonde and sweet?"

She looked away, pointedly ignoring him and said, "I heard Tank was hauled over the coals yesterday for moonlighting at Trey's again. You think the Captain will suspend him?"

"Where's mystery man taking you? Dinner? Clubbing? Flying?"

She shot him a look and said, "Personally I think the Captain should have fired Tank last year, the guy's a musclehead and has probably fried whatever brain cells he had years ago."

Greg laughed and shook his head, "_Personally_, I think Tall Dark should take you spelunking. I hear it's a great way to meet women."

"Is that where you met your last date, cos' you were really scraping the barrel there, Fish. Definitely a cave dweller."

'_Ah, got you now.'_

Greg smiled innocently and said, "Well, at least she doesn't dress up like a rodent and take swan dives off sky-scrapers."

Delaney's jaw dropped and she stammered, "Wha.. I… no.. huh?"

"Ah, come of it, Delaney. I saw him. He flapped off on those big bat wings after you had a nice long chat in the alley. And now you're all doe-eyed and preening…"

"NO! I … I … I do not preen!" She glared at him and aimed a backhand swat at him. Greg laughed and nudged her hand back to the steering wheel. "Bat-obsessed eyes on the road, please."

Correcting the car's drift, Delaney spluttered indignantly at him. "I am not obsessed with Batman! I.. he's.."

"Right, and the Captain hates the Red Sox. You've had a thing for Ratman ever since he pulled you out of that burning building and don't try to tell me that you two don't occasionally 'meet' on a moonlight rooftop and …"

"No! What… where'd you hear that … garbage? I never.. we.. " She paused for a moment and said sternly, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Tapping the side of his nose, Fisher smiled knowingly, "Ah, you are forgetting the great Fish Network, better known as the Fishnet Stocking, of course. I see all, I hear all, I know all."

Delaney snorted but Greg continued regardless, "Rumour on the street is that a young policewoman has the hots for Gotham's clumsiest vigilante and has been seen snogging him on Bellreve Tower."

"WHAT!" Delaney's voice jumped a few octaves but Greg had lost the momentary surprise and rather than splutter, she glared at him and said with gritted teeth, "First off, snogging? You've been watching Monty Python again, obviously and it's not funny! Second, Bellreve Tower? Its 50 slagging stories high! Who in the hell could see anything going on up there! And third, I have not kissed, snogged, gropped or otherwise exchanged bodily fluids with Batman!"

"Right. But I bet you wish you had, right?"

The backhand swat clipped him this time but Delaney refused to answer and glared at the road instead. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and Greg just chuckled to himself, rubbing his head. They turned right onto Beecham and Fisher began to hum softly under his breath.

The bright neon lights from various shops and restaurants cast an array of colour over the car and as Delaney ignored her partner, her face alternately became red, green, yellow and blue. Greg's humming slowly grew in volume and Delaney's face got redder and redder underneath the false light. As Greg reached the dramatic climax of '_Batman the Musical's' _theme song, he burst into song and warbled extremely off key, "_Terror of the Night. Dark and Myster-i-ous!. Batman! Don't let his shadow falllll ovvveerrr you!"_

"Knock it off!"

Greg laughed and suddenly had to grab the dashboard in front of him as Delaney took a corner very sharply. Her face was grim and if she clenched her jaw any tighter, Greg figured he'd have to pry her mouth open with a crowbar.

He sat quietly for a good five minutes and let her cool off. Delaney seemed to relax a little in the silence and he waited five more minutes just in case. Eventually, she sighed and shot a still furious glance at him, but her stranglehold on the steering wheel was easing off. Just as she was about to open her mouth and probably ream him out, Greg asked innocently, "So, does the Batmobile have a backseat?"

There was no room to escape her punch and even as he rubbed his arm, Greg laughed and said, "Nah, probably not, huh? But I bet he knows some 'real' secluded places, right?"

"Ow!"

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"Oh, you guys are not going to believe this!"

Danny and Matt looked up at Chris, her mega-watt smile at near super-nova white. The two boys shared a brief 'look' and said in unison, "What?"

"This is just so schway! Tony Capriski heard from Dozer that Anne's cousin's boyfriend's mother actually saw Superman at the premier of Saw 13 and he left 5 minutes into the film with some blonde floozy!" Chris sat down next Danny and Matt at their regular table in the cafeteria and without really taking a breath continued, "Yeah, and it turns out the blonde floozy is actually a relative or something of the Flash, the old Flash… I think and maybe his daughter and of course, Superman is old enough to be her Grandfather and that …"

Noticing that Chris was talking more to her non-fat, non-sugar, non-dairy yoghurt than to them, Danny leant over the table and hissed, "So, now my Dad is insisting that Megan is home before 8 every night – which is fine and I understand why, and she's schway with it, but he's telling me I have to be home too and well…"

Matt nodded, keeping an eye on Chris, watching for when she'd take a breath and expect an answer from them – about whatever - and whispered to Danny, "I know you get where he's coming from, but 8? That's insane!"

"Yeah! And he even gave me this whole speech about 'boys' not being safe either and just because I'm a guy doesn't mean that some perv dreg isn't going to want me. Ew, the whole conversation just wigged me out! And don't let me get started on my Mom! I swear, if she could, she'd keep both of us locked in our rooms at her house. Like us staying at my Dad's is more dangerous."

Again Matt nodded in sympathy, but said, "Hey, you can't blame them, dude. What happened to Megan could have been so much worse and…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, if it hadn't been for Batman and …" Danny paused and looked up from his burger, a strange grossed out look on his face, "I mean, the Bat is cool and all, but I swear, if I hear Megan gush about how schway he is, how strong his arms are, how cool his costume is, wondering what colour his eyes are – I think I'm going to be sick. That or this burger is just not right…"

Matt smiled, trying not to look too pleased. He knew that Danny was glad, no, over the moon, about his sister being found and now being fussed over, and that his complaints were just the excitement talking, but hearing that Megan had a crush on Batman? Too bad he couldn't capitalise on it. That and she was way too young.

Romance however, inevitably brought someone else to mind and Matt covertly studied Danny who was inspecting his burger with long fingers, peering at the sauce with huge distaste. Should he mention it? Maybe Danny could… give advice? Matt snorted to himself. '_Yeah, right. The last time Danny went on a date, the girl actually went to the bathroom and never came back.'_

"Dude, I think this is… like the leftover grease from Miss Gretchen's hair or something… it's just… wrong!"

"Hey, Dan – if a girl liked …"

"And then this tramp on the upper east side says that she's having Batman's baby! Apparently she's got a lawyer and everything to try track the Bat down and make him acknowledge the kid!"

Matt's question died a silent death as he stared at Chris. Danny was gagging on his burger, whether or not from the surprise or the taste, but Matt stammered, "What? What baby?"

"Yeah, I mean, it seems like all these superheros are skanky sluts! Put a mask on, bust some butt and then get laid by your adoring fans! Yuk! Although, Batman does have a great ass, if it's his real ass and not some fake costume thing."

Chris paused, probably contemplating Batman's assets and Danny shook a stunned Matt out of his stupor. "Dude. You ok?"

'_She thinks my ass is cute? I am definitely getting a cape!'_

"That picture of him tripping over that girl Joker was a great butt-shot."

'_A sack. I am going to wear a sack!'_

"I wonder what his chest looks like? Bet he's got a six pack and pecs to die for!"

'_Nope. Pale, skinny chicken chest.'_

"Dude, why are you blushing?"

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Room 218 was silent. Claire had said that if she heard any sort of noise from Mr King's room, she had to call her. Immediately.

Fortunately all was quiet. Nurse Rachel Woods made a few notations on the medical chart in front of her and continued to wait. Nurse Claire von Stahl was due to arrive for her shift any minute and usually she was extremely prompt, if not early.

By the time Nurse Woods checked her chrono again, Nurse von Stahl was 10 minutes late. Concerned, but needing to do her rounds, Rachel stood, and with clipboard in hand quickly moved towards her patient's rooms. She checked on Room 218 last.

The room was dark, and the light from the open doorway was just sufficient to illuminate the still figure strapped to the bed. Claire had said not to check on Mr King but since she was late …. Nurse Woods flipped the light switch on and screamed.

Claire von Stahl, Senior Nurse at Santa Anna Clinic was lying on the bed, unconscious and tied securely down by high tech soft restraints. Dropping her clipboard and running to the bed, Rachel urgently called out, "Claire, Claire! Are you ok?"

A rough gag had been shoved into her mouth and there was a growing bruise on her neck, but other than that her vitals were steady. Pulling out the gag and removing the monitoring equipment seemed to revive Claire and she moaned groggily.

"Claire! Claire!" Rachel gently tapped her face and all too soon the intensity returned to Claire's face and she snapped, "Stop it! Get me out of this, now!"

Futilely, she pulled against the restraints and Rachel hurried to deactivate them. "What happened, Claire? How did…?"

"I don't slagging know how the dreg did it, but he surprised me and was choking the life out of me… would you damn well open these slagging things!"

"I'm trying!" Rachel futilely keyed the open sequence to the restraint, but nothing happened. She leant over Claire and tried the other side, but also to no avail. "They're not working! I don't…"

"The bastard must have done something to them. Call Security, tell them a patient is loose," and when Rachel fumbled for a moment more with the restraint, von Stahl yelled, "NOW!"

Terry stood on the roof of the clinic and smiled. An offshore breeze from the Pacific Ocean leant the air a pleasant coolness and the sun felt warm against his pale skin and he lifted his face up to the sky, eyes closed and enjoyed the feeling of freedom.

After the extremely satisfying encounter with Voice and leaving her trussed up to his bed, Terry had quietly made his way to the pharmaceutical store. It had taken all of his skills to sneak past the Nurses' station and into the store. Fortunately, there had been very few nurses and no doctors around, despite it being the middle of the day shift. Inside the storeroom, with the door locked behind him, Terry had quickly searched for what he needed.

He had found the first two ingredients almost immediately but the third and most vital had eluded him and he had nearly had to abandon his search when he heard footsteps approaching. He had hidden himself awkwardly behind a shelving unit but luckily the footsteps passed the storeroom and when he looked up to thank his lucky stars, he spotted the missing drug.

Bruce Wayne had a thousand and one tricks up his sleeve – as one would expect of the Dark Knight – and Terry slowly assembled one of them. A superhero, without actual superpowers, needed to be able to act even in the most dire of circumstances, including his own injuries. Steadily, trying to recall the exact proportions, Terry prepared a drug that deadened pain from injuries and stimulated his nervous system enough to get him moving. There were two serious drawbacks though – the drug deadened the nerves so much that any new injuries incurred would not be felt until too late, and it thinned the blood so much that he could bleed to death without realising his danger. The drug also put tremendous amount of strain on the heart and could only be used for short periods of time.

The benefits, however, outweighed the risks and after fumbling for a syringe and trying to will his hands to stop shaking long enough to inject himself, Terry 'shot up' with what he desperately hoped was the right mixture. It took a few minutes for the drug to work and as the pain fell away, Terry felt new strength surge through him. Well aware that it was a false sense of security and that his time was limited, Terry pocketed the remainder of the drug and quietly left the storeroom. He found the roof exit shortly afterwards and as he climbed the stairs, felt certain that when he opened the door to the roof, he would find himself in Gotham.

The sight of the Golden Gate Bridge and a bright blue San Francisco Bay was unexpected, to say the least. Stunned, he stared out across the scenic vista, his mind momentarily numb. He really was in San Francisco? It wasn't some huge and elaborate hoax?

His feeling of shock soon turned into relief as he felt the wind pick up and stir his messy hair – it felt good to be outside. Terry slowly made his way to the roof edge and looked down. He was only 3 stories up, and when you're used to skyscrapers and 100s of stories, three would prove no challenge.

The fire escape door suddenly burst open behind him and Terry spun around to see the two male nurses from the other day. The over-muscled pair paused when they saw him, as if they were surprised to him so easily. They shared a look and slowly began to approach Terry.

Terry smiled broadly and resisted the urge to take up a fighting stance. They obviously thought he was too weak to offer a challenge and he'd rather keep his drug enhanced strength an unpleasant surprise.

The nearest nurse, who Terry promptly named 'Big' said in what he obviously thought was smoothing voice, "Now, now, Mr King, we're not going to hurt you."

Terry let fly a hard right that connected right under Big's eye and sent the nurse staggering. "It's McGinnis, dregs!"

Nurse Two, or 'Tall' tried to catch Terry off guard by charging at him with a roar, but McGinnis spun away and then swept Tall's feet from under him with a low kick and then stepped forward and slammed two consecutive jabs into Big's face again, following through with a wicked uppercut. Big staggered back again, clutching his jaw and as Tall tried to stand, Terry kicked him in the ribs twice before landing a third squarely between his legs when he tried to roll over to protect himself. Tall's howl of anguish seemed to spur Big back into action and he charged at Terry swinging wildly. Terry nimbly dodged the blows and ducked to land one of his own on Big's kidneys. Terry spun away and felt his wounded leg spasm. Glancing down, he saw that he was bleeding and knew he had to finish Big off quickly.

Big ran at him, and Terry let him get close, so that when Big threw a meaty fist at his head, he neatly sidestepped, grabbed the offending arm with one hand and slammed his open palm into Big's elbow. There was unpleasant crunch and before Big had time to scream, Terry had twisted his arm behind his back and had the hefty nurse in a painful hold. As Big fell to his knees, Terry reached over and found the pressure point between his collarbone and shoulder and dug his thumb in. With one arm immobilised behind him, and a searing pain shooting through his other side, Big moaned loudly, "Stop!"

"Who's paying Nurse Ratchet to keep me here?"

Big shook his head, and stammered in reply, "No idea. She… she runs the place… I…"

His arm was suddenly released and the pain in his shoulder was gone and as Big fell forward, cradling his arm, he looked around, trying to spot Terry through tear-blurred eyes.

Tall was still hunched over, rocking steadily in the way only a man can when nursing that particular hurt. The rest of the roof of empty. Big shook his head, trying to clear his vision, but it was soon abundantly clear.

Terry was gone.

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The window was open, a stiff night breeze toying with pale curtains and scattering random papers through out the apartment. A GCPD Detective badge lay on the glass coffee table, while silent images from an expensive vidscreen flashed across white leather couches. A top of the range sound system lay silent, with only the flashing red message signal on the vidphone visible.

Another vidscreen, this one attached to the oak kitchen counter was scrolling endlessly through a newspaper article. The headline "Gordon Escapes Near Death" was followed by a rapid account of how Ms Angelique Samuels, Assistant to Commissioner Gordon, was found dead in her office. Both her and Commissioner Gordon's office had been trashed, but sources reported it seemed to have occurred after Ms Samuels death. None of the security cameras showed the assailant. Static filled all of the screens during the time of the murder and when the cameras came back online, the bloodied body of Ms Samuels, still seated at her desk, could be seen. There was no sign of forced entry and no trace of the assassin. Although the coroner had yet to confirm it, Ms Samuels had been stabbed multiple times. Sources within the GCPD noted that if Commissioner Gordon had not been attending a late meeting with the Mayor, she may well have been killed too. Barbara Gordon had declined to comment.

The newspaper article continued to repeat itself, the words on the screen providing enough light to illuminate a stack of creds on the counter. The creds were brand new and reflected high denominations. A small, red drop of blood lay on the top cred, glistening wetly.

The owner of said blood lay beneath the counter where he had tried to hide, to escape. A growing pool of blood stained the deep pile cream carpet beneath him, its quality fibres soaked to capacity.

It no longer mattered that the murdered man was a crooked cop and that the stack of creds would have sealed IA's ongoing investigation into his affairs. Ryan Sheehan no longer cared about anything at all. Not his Captain's anger about the escalating number of murders, not Marconi's fear about the cool assassin who sliced his way through all defences and certainly not about O'Malley being found in 'literally' hundreds of pieces.

It is said that the last thing a man sees before he dies is imprinted on his eyes for any with the skill to see. Whether this is true or not, if a person were to recall the last image that flashed before Sheehan's stunned gaze, they would have seen a sword. A sword swinging straight towards them.

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'_I know what darkness means  
The isolation stings  
The echoes in my brain  
You took my everything!'_

Mary McGinnis sighed as she opened the front door. Matt's music was blasting through the apartment at a decibel usually reserved for concerts. The large vidscreen was playing to itself, and a pile of dirty dishes lay unwashed in the kitchen sink.

"Thanks a lot, Matty." Exhausted after a long shift, Mary carefully hung up her coat and handbag, before kicking off her shoes and sighing again. She had left a note for Matt, asking him to clean up when he got home but it seemed he was ignoring her notes too.

They had barely spoken in over a week and she knew it was partly because he felt guilty about their last fight. He was probably waiting for the right time to apologise but between her shifts and his new habit of disappearing at all hours, they had not had the chance.

The headache that had begun at work was now growing in intensity and Mary decided that now was as good a time as any to speak to her son, particularly about his choice in music.

'_The shadows that you see  
Are memories of me  
The truth behind your eyes  
Your darkest little lie'_

She opened the door to his room, and winced as the volume noticeably increased. His computer was running the music programme and the screen was the sole source of light in the room. A figure was buried beneath the bed clothes, apparently fast asleep.

'_Oh how on earth can you sleep with this noise?'_ Mary thought and despite her headache, she stood and stared at her son's sleeping form. Her boys were so different, yet so alike. While not as close as she would have wished them to be, she had counted herself luckily that Matt hadn't followed in Terry's footsteps and got involved in gangs. If anything, Matt was determined to be the complete opposite to Terry.

The animosity between the two brothers, and especially Matt's attitude to Terry, was disheartening and she hoped that it was something they would outgrow. Matt needed a father figure and when Terry started working for Mr Wayne, any chance that he might have had to provide that was gone. Instead, Matt resented Terry and Terry couldn't understand why. Up until a month ago, Matt had been a model son compared to Terry at that age – albeit both boys brought home the same number of notes from school. Terry for fighting, Matt for attitude and sleeping.

But now, Matt had suddenly changed. Gone was the sulking teenager and Mary found herself dealing with an angry young man – who kept disappearing. Just like Terry.

Initially afraid that Matt was involved in something illegal, Mary had wanted to ask Terry to keep an eye on him. But Terry was still in London and according to his last email, would remain there for sometime. A quick call to Commissioner Gordon had reassured Mary that Matt wasn't involved in a gang, but her concerns remained. Where was he going?

Reluctant to wake her son, but determined to get some answers, Mary made her way to the bed, stepping over books, shoes and piles of clothes.

"Matt?"

She reached out to shake him awake, but as her hand touched the sheets, she knew something was wrong. She pulled aside the old Batman bedspread and saw the pile of pillows beneath. "Oh, Matt!"

Angry, she tossed the sheet aside and said aloud, "What the hell are you doing, Matt?"

'_I wont back down  
I will not drown  
And I cant forget things you did  
I've come to bring you hell.'_

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Matt slowly peeled off Batman's cowl and wiped a weary hand over his face. A sullen, sick feeling had settled in his stomach and he had a sneaking feeling that he wouldn't be sleeping tonight, despite how tired he felt.

"Rough night?"

Matt turned slightly and saw Bruce Wayne standing at the foot of the stairs leading down from the Manor. The old guy was dressed in an expensive tux and had his usual expressionless mask on. Holding his gaze for a heartbeat, Matt shrugged, "Like you care."

Wayne's eyes hardened and his usual gruff voice grated out hoarsely, "I care about my property being damaged and you taking out half of Gotham in the process."

Matt shook his head and wondered aloud, "So what happened to protecting the innocent, stopping the bad guys. I thought you were all vengeance, hellfire and retribution. Hell, I'm surprised you're not still obsessively lurking in the Cave, perving over Gotham like a senile peeping tom."

A flash of anger crossed Wayne's face and his grip on his cane tightened. He growled, "You got a big mouth for someone who wasn't even an itch in his father's pants when I started kicking ass in this town, so watch your mouth!"

A surprised snort of laughter from Matt, made Wayne look even grimer and as Matt replied, the old guy took an angry step forward. "Hell, old man – I think you've been watching too many mob vids! Eat some clothe and you'll have Brando down."

Matt shook his head at the angry old man and continued, "Look, you wanted Batman in Gotham, and I'm doing it. Since you stopped 'riding' along with me, things are better. So, just stay away and things will be fine."

The two stared at eachother and when a bat flew over their heads, a silent flutter of motion in the still darkness, Matt continued, "When … when Terry gets back, you two can go back to whatever weird boss/lackey thing you've got going but leave me the hell out of it. I'm fine doing this solo."

Wayne paused, his eyes searching Matt. He seemed to relax and an almost smug smile curled his mouth. "Fine? You're fine? So, when you kill someone – either by accident or on purpose – you'll be just 'fine'?"

"I'll deal with it! I don't need you, Wayne."

Bruce Wayne shook his head in mock-sorrow. "Have it your way, kid. You do the Batman thing and I'll wait. And when you fail, I'll send your mother my condolences."

He paused, as if waiting for Matt to retort, but the young man remained silent. Wayne shrugged, and slowly turned to leave the Batcave, chuckling under his breath. As he disappeared up the dark stairs, his final jab echoed through the cave. "I'm sure you'll make your brother proud."

Matt waited until he heard the door close upstairs and sighing, he stared at the cowl in his hand. The blank eyes stared back at him and Matt half-imagined they were smiling at him. He looked up at the large computers and giant screen. It hadn't been turned on in weeks, and since he usually just took the suit and car, he had never bothered with the computer.

Until, 10 minutes ago.

His patrol, a wonderfully incident free, no embarrassing moments and actually stopped a crime, patrol had been tarnished by hearing about a fatal accident on the police scanner. Flying to the scene, he had watched the cops and paramedics race to save lives at a four car pile up. A family sedan, with parents and kids inside had crashed into a heavy 18-wheeler truck, with two other sedans ploughing into the truck as it jack-knifed. Feeling worse than useless, he had left the scene and flown back to the cave.

Unable to stop thinking about the crash, he had turned on the computer to try find the police scanner and hopefully get more information. The computer was more difficult to navigate than he initially thought and he had found himself in the security logs of the Batcave.

Not really surprised to find that Wayne had cameras in the cave itself, he had keyed up a random log and suddenly Terry's face was staring at him.

His brother was looking into the computer screen, and he was smiling. Matt had found himself smiling back. Terry looked so … relaxed, so at ease. He had the suit on, without the cowl of course and looked … great. His voice had filled the Cave, chasing away the silence.

'_Gotcha! And right in front of the camera too. Twip never even checked.'_

Terry had turned to talk to someone out of sight. _'Did you get anything from the Batmobile's computer?'_

Matt had watched as Bruce entered the camera's line of vision, carrying a datadisk.

'_Yes. Got their registrations and shots of them before they covered their faces.'_

'_Ah, the joys of the incompetent criminal mind.'_

'_You would know.'_

'_Are you implying what I think you are implying?'_

''_Juvenile record.'_

'_Selina Kyle.'_

'_Ten of Spades.'_

'_Reformed.'_

'_Good Actress.'_

'_Cynic.'_

'_Realist.'_

'_Delusional!'_

'_Naïve.'_

Matt found himself smiling along with Terry. His brother suddenly stood and pulled on his cowl and said in Batman's deep voice.

'_As stimulating as this conversation has been, I've got places to go, people to see, plots to foil…'_

'_Senior citizens to annoy.'_

'_You said it, not me.'_

Matt had paused the vid and stood for a long while staring up at the screen. Eventually the computer had gone onto stand by and Matt had pulled off the cowl, just before Wayne arrived.

Now, after exchanging pleasantries with Wayne, he stared at the cowl, and then the blank computer and then the dark stairs. Eventually he turned back to the computer screen and pulled up the paused log again. He scrutinised the still, frowning.

'_Anyone else got a bad feeling? Just me? Great.'_

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Tinny, traditional carnival music was being blasted out of state of the art JHX-101 speakers, located strategically around the big top and side-show tents. In roughly 30 minutes time, the matinee performance of Bertoleni's Big Top Circus would start, and as a result, a crowd of excited kids and stressed parents were making their way through carefully and strategically placed side-shows towards the Big Top. Festive and overly cheerful clowns targeted families with multiple screaming kids, offering sugary delicacies at exorbitant prices in loud voices designed to attract the envy of other sugar-deprived kids. The Great Bertoleni himself was standing outside the Big Top, welcoming his audience in a booming voice, while Tarzana and Jane, stars of the chimp bicycle ride screamed their own welcome while perched on Frederick the Tall's shoulders. The fire-eater was eating fire, the dancing dogs were dancing, and the bearded lady was arguing with the tattooed man, all in perfect cacophonic accompaniment to the loud music.

The circus was definitely in town.

Mike Labuschagne, star of the Romaninski Family Acrobat Troupe, stood on the sidelines beneath the overhang of Misty the Mermaid's tent and watched the chaos. The rest of the 'Troupe' were warming up behind the Big Top but Mike liked to watch the chaos that occurred before a performance and he was smiling at Sammy the Sad's attempt to wrestle a candy apple away from a child whose mother was giving him a full-watt 'you-did-not-just-give-my-diabetic-child-sugar! glare' and unfortunately for the clown, he was rapidly loosing the battle.

The crowd outside was beginning to dwindle as the Big Top filled up and noting the time, Mike turned to join his friends in their preparation. As he made his way round the tent towards the living quarters, he spotted a dark haired man in a trenchcoat leaning against the empty tiger cages. The guy's posture was relaxed and nonchalant, but his unkempt appearance and filthy coat raised serious questions. The circus drew all manner of people, including junkies and the homeless, who were usually looking for a quick buck or a promising trash can.

This guy however was a little too close to Bertoleni's large caravan for comfort and after the last robbery, all of the circus folk kept a sharp eye on strangers. Taking a deep breath, Mike casually ambled towards the stranger, confident that his acrobat training would provide enough of an edge if they came to blows. As he drew near, the stranger continued to lean against the cages as if he had every intention of staying there for hours. His hair was beyond messy and dark, unreadable eyes studied Mike as he approached.

"Something I can help you with?" Mike stopped a good few feet away, way out of reach and stood akimbo, his hands planted firmly on his sequin-covered hips.

The stranger met his gaze and despite the dark circles and drawn expression, his gaze was steady and unafraid. "Looking for work." His voice was calm and even and Mike felt himself relaxing.

Being polite, Mike said, "You have circus experience?" and he wasn't able to keep the sceptical doubt out of his voice.

A wry smile brought a flash of white teeth and the stranger chuffed, "Feels like the last few years have been a circus, but no."

Mike smiled in response and asked, "Then aren't you a little old to be running away to join the circus?"

The stranger shrugged, "Maybe it's my inner child. Your posters say you're going to St Paul next, and after that?"

Running a quick eye over the guy, Mike wondered if he was on the run or something and replied with, "Yeah, then Chicago and then Gotham."

"Bi-centennial celebration?"

Frowning, Mike nodded, "Yeah, the Mayor in Gotham has booked us for the next 2 months, as part of Gotham's bi-centennial celebrations. Something about us being part of local history. How did you …"

"Born and bred in Gotham," the stranger paused and looked around the circus as if seeing it for the first time, "The Flying Graysons?"

Mike nodded fiercely, "Yeah, they used to be part of our show. The circus has changed names and owners several times since then, but it is essentially the same one. We haven't been back to Gotham since …"

The stranger nodded in understanding and muttered, "Only in Gotham does 'history' mean psychos and tragedy."

Mike noted the stiff tone and said, "So, why are you trying to go back?"

Another smile and shrug, "Home is home – no matter its history."

The guy seemed ok, and Mike knew that Bertoleni would probably offer him a job. There was always more work than hands in the circus and the ringmaster would routinely hire drifters to help out. It had only ever back fired on him once.

"Look, just so long as you don't want to be a clown, I think Bertoleni will hire you. Can't guarantee that he'll take you all the way to Gotham, but…"

"Its better than nothing, thanks."

The guy seemed genuinely grateful and relieved. "Come on, I'll take you around back were you can wait for him. Once he's opened the show, he'll be free. Hell, he'll probably have you helping out straight away – one of our grips broke a leg yesterday and we're short handed. The name's Mike by the way."

The stranger stood, and Mike noticed that he winced a little in doing so, but he was soon offering his hand to Mike and said, "Terry."

"This way." They started walking towards the performance entrance and when a pair of clowns ran past them laughing hysterically, Mike noticed the stranger tense up until the clowns were out of sight.

"Not a fan of clowns?"

Terry shook his head, "No, it's a Gotham thing."

Confused, Mike said, "huh?"

Smiling wryly, Terry replied, "Clowns in Gotham tend to take 'tickling you to death' literally."

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Nftw: Thanks for the reviews – I love 'em! (and for the chocolate, Lala!)

Yes, I know that Bruce is still a mystery, but don't worry, I have an entire chapter just dedicated to him. It will probably be either chapter 9 or 10.  
Chapter 8's name: You Have Got to Be Kidding ME!

Kudos to Wolfdaughter for getting the reference to the Great Escape. The Cooler King was the American prisoner (played by Steve McQueen) who tried repeatedly to escape, and ended up in the Cooler more often that not.

'_Won't back down' _is by Fuel and from the Daredevil Soundtrack.

I genuinely, seriously, without a doubt want to know what you think. Good? Bad? Hate it? Love it? Too slow? Too fast? Too choppy? Too smooth? Too red? Not enough red?


	8. You have got to be kidding me

a/n: Apologies for the brief interruption, but this fic is officially going AU. I initially thought that I would keep the storyline canon (as established by the BB series and JLU) but this fic offered a juicy plot line too good to pass up. So, we enter AU waters from here in. Enjoy.

Chapter 8: You have got to be kidding me.

"Uh, Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"You know girls, right?"

"No wait, um … those giggly things that talk a lot?"

"Seriously, Dan. Girls – I…"

"Ah slag, Matt, we're not going to have some heart to heart are we? I mean … you do know about the birds and the bees right? Ow!"

"Knock it off. I'm trying to have a serious conversation here, twip!"

"Kay, kay. Serious talk, got it."

"So, girls. You know how they …. Uh… they like certain… types…"

"Like, 'not' us."

"Yes… no… sorta.. and well they got ideas…"

"Damn those crazy girl ideas! Ow, quit hitting me!"

"About … boys… men and how we should act, and think and … well, just they got preconceptions about us."

"Big word, Matt, but yeah, they think we should be like gentlemanly knights and twip like that."

"Yeah, yeah but what if… what if a girl thinks you're … one thing… and you are … it … but… only sorta?"

"Huh?"

"You know, they have this idea of who you are… and … and its probably why they like you … it is why they like you … and they're not wrong … but just not hundred percent right and you like them, her and if she finds out that you're not really, totally, completely what they, she, thinks … do you… will she… still like you?"

"Kay, wait. Let me get this straight. There's a girl. You like her. She likes you but thinks you're something else, other than the Matt who annoys the crap outa me and when she finds out you are the Matt you annoys the crap outa people, you think she won't like you?

"Sorta."

"Matt! If she likes you and if she's schway, she won't mind or care about the weirdness that is you. If she doesn't like the 'whole' you, she's not worth it. But frankly, if she likes even a small part of you, she's either out of her tree or blind or … Ow!"

"But if she thinks I am 'someone' else?"

"Are you dating an internet chick? How in the slag do you know that she's not some dreg, or … or a 40 year old perv or … ugly? OW!"

"She's not an internet chick…. She just might… think that I'm someone else."

"Like who? You impersonating Elvis or something… does she think she's dating Elvis?"

"We're not dating! It's not even that serious… but .. ah .. she might think that I'm… a… I'm…"

"Sorry didn't catch that last part? She thinks you're who?"

"………"

"Who?"

"Terry! She slagging thinks that I'm Terry! Alright? …. Stop laughing!"

"Sorry… sorry.. How in the world… and no offence bro.. but how in the world could she mistake you for your so much older and handsomer brother?"

"Sheesh, Dan, I had no idea you were part of the 'I Love Terry McGinnis fan club!' Bet you got pictures of him in your locker and all!"

"No, no – Matt… sorry, it's just… he's … he's… Terry friggin McGinnis! How…"

"It was slagging dark, ok? That's how… and … and she doesn't know him all that well… and … it was noisy… it was a … a club ok, so it was dark and noisy and she thought I was him and she's … hot… way schway hot and well… she thinks I'm him and well…"

"You kissed her?"

"No! … Later … not at first… we kissed the other night … after the first.."

"You went back? This isn't just some one night crush thing? You are dating her?"

"NO! … maybe? I don't think so – I mean I've seen her, what, five times and we only kissed last night and … we're not dating, but still…"

"Yeah? You are so dead, man."

"Huh?"

"When she finds out you're not Terry, man. She will kill you and then Terry will kill you for getting 'his' girl and …"

"Terry won't care! He… doesn't… he hasn't ever made a move on her before and he's got.. he won't make a move, so… he won't kill me – I hope."

"But she will. Look, dude, as much as she might like you, she thinks you're someone else and when she finds out that you're faking it, she will flip – completely and utterly flip and… I'll be reading about your mutilated body on the newsvid, man."

"You think? I mean… maybe she'll like me … for me?"

"Gag! Bro… she likes Terry! Older brother Terry! Not 16 year old Matthew McGinnis but… hey… wait,"

"What?"

"How old is she?"

"I don't know!"

"How old is she, Matt?"

"I don't know!"

"Older than you?"

"Yeah."

"Way older than you?"

"No… ten years? Maybe? Maybe less."

"Slagging hell, Matt! She's dating a 16 year old and doesn't know it! She will flip!"

"Maybe not, maybe not – she might like… younger men."

"Men, maybe, but not kids! And I'm pretty sure it's illegal or something…"

"She would know."

"What?"

"Nothing. Come on, Dan – you really think this is … hopeless?"

"Hell, yes! Matt, you can't seriously be thinking of trying to date a women who is older, thinks you're your brother and that you'll get away with it! She'll find out – probably when you ask her to prom, or something or she'll see Terry and get all girlfriendy on him and he'll be all, like, what? And then you really will be dead – dead!"

"Slag it."

"Matt? Hey… look… I.."

"I like her, ok. She's cool. And she doesn't talk… she's just cool, man."

"Yeah, kay, I get it, but in her head, she's dating Terry…"

"We're not dating!"

"Kay, but she thinks she making moves on big brother and as cool as she is, she ain't yours, not really."

"I know. It's just…"

"Hell, Matt – maybe, maybe… she'd be ok with you and the underage thing… kay .. maybe not… but still…"

"No, no, you're right. I'm just being a twip about this."

"You going to tell Terry, so she doesn't … ah.. you know..spring it on him or… let into him for breaking up… or…"

"Just shut up about Terry, kay! He's not here and even if he was… he wouldn't."

"Why? She not his type, or something?"

"No! Hell, I don't know, but he wouldn't go for her, kay."

"You sure? Because if she talks to him or asks why he broke it off…"

" 'Cos he's got frigging issues, alright! HUGE frigging issues! And that's why all the damn women keep throwing themselves at him!"

"They do? I mean he's ok … for a guy.."

"Dan!"

"And the rich thing too, I suppose…"

"Danny!"

"Is he dating someone, already? You afraid he'll freak out if your chick comes on to him?"

"He's not dating anyone, Dan. Remember?"

"Uh… oh… right ... the… the Tan thing, with the stalker…"

"Yeah, that thing. Just leave it!"

"Sure. Sure. Sorry, I forgot, alright?"

"Fine."

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean .. shit, Matt, I… Matt? Matt!"

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Beneath the crosswalk between 18th Ave and Park Lane, under the public vidphone on the corner, lay a confusing intersection of cables, wires and a large exchange box. It was a remnant of decades past in which telephone lines met in a neat and orderly manner, swiftly connecting millions of people. Rushed modern telecommunication companies had used the exchange to house their new video lines, haphazardly leaving old cables and connections behind. Just as long as the lines operated, they neither cared or worried over the mess. Which is why, despite the large amount of unusual audio and visual telecommunication problems Gotham was experiencing, no one thought to check that particular exchange box. After all, it was just one old box amidst a thousand others.

Eastern Seaboard Telecom received over a million service requests every day. It had a 24 hour call centre dedicated to faulty lines, poor picture feed, loss of audio, audio only and time delay problems. If the busy and overworked staff noticed a rise in complaints, they put the escalation down to the overcast weather the East Coast was experiencing. Nobody noticed the strange pattern in some of the fault complaints.

If they had, they may have noticed that no vidcalls to Mary McGinnis, Maxine Gibson, Bruce Wayne on his personal or company line, Matt McGinnis, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, and Clark Kent were getting through. Callers automatically went through to voice or face mail, with messages mysteriously disappearing. Even the JLU was experiencing difficulty with their lines. But since these individuals were not the only ones experiencing problems, no one noticed, or cared, nor would have had the knowledge to connect these dots to realise that one Terry McGinnis would be getting very frustrated.

2 miles across town from the corner of 18th and Park, Terry slammed the public vidphone down as he got his mother's facemail message again. So far, each time he had left someone a message, 'someone' had found him. At first it had been cops at the circus, and then the sheriff department just outside of Chicago. And after escaping police custody twice, Terry was in no mood to try his luck again, esp when the cops seemed determined to take him back to San Francisco. The guy at the small truck stop on the interstate may have been nobody, but his attention on Terry had had him quickly making his way out the back. For two long weeks he had made his way to Gotham – and now, here he was with the same problem.

He was too wary of bringing trouble to his home to approach his house directly, and when he had tried sneaking in, he noticed an array of surveillance equipment designed to alert someone to his arrival. Without the batsuit and its arsenal of weapons, he felt it was too risky to approach anyone else, just in case he was attacked. Again.

Considering his options, Terry slouched in the shadows near an all night diner and watched Gotham's citizens pass him by. His options were limited, until he knew what was going on. Someone seemed determined to keep him out of touch with his friends and family. And they had connections up the wahzoo to do so. Even Commissioner Gordon seemed to be laying low – word on the street was that she was being targeted by some assassin. Approaching the Batcave was out of the question – if he was being followed, the last thing he wanted to do was lead 'them' to the Batcave. Even if they did seem to know exactly who he would try call. Rather safe than sorry.

Frustrated, Terry absently rubbed his chest, unconsciously tracing the scar over his heart. The circus had had a doctor on staff, who had prescribed him some antibiotics and pain meds. He had been on the mend when he had had to run, and even though it felt good to be back in Gotham, Terry knew he still wasn't completely well.

What he needed was the Batsuit.

As Batman he'd be able to track down more information, and hopefully uncover whoever was behind all the mystery. With the batsuit bolstering his strength, he'd be able to defend himself and his family, should the need arise. He needed to be Batman.

Only, it seemed while he was away, Gotham had found a new Batman.

A clumsy one.

A new Batman meant Bruce was concerned enough to get someone else on the case, maybe even suit up himself. A new Batman meant… lots of things, none of which Terry liked. And the more he heard about this other Batman, the more concerned he got.

Shoving his hand back into the trench coat he had borrowed a few states back, Terry pushed himself off the wall and started towards the distant lights of Gotham Towers. If he needed to be Batman, maybe he should find Batman.

As Terry disappeared into the crowd of late evening shoppers, a box-shaped device, hidden amongst the coils of cables and wires under 18th and Park, notified a distant computer that someone had tried to call Mary McGinnis and had hung up.

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And the rain fell down.

Terry liked Gotham in the rain. And it wasn't because twip crooks decided to stay in for the night and leave the committing of miscellaneous felonies for some other occasion, but rather because of its after effects. The silence that fell over the city once the clouds had run dry was wondrously peaceful. The air, for once, smelled clean and crisp, the ocean adding its particular salty savour to the air. It didn't last long, but when you stood on the rooftops and gazed over the city, sparkling in the night air, everything felt – right.

Judging by the strength of the downpour though, he'd have to wait awhile before the rain would stop, and he didn't really have the time to stop and smell the city.

It should have been harder, hell, it should have been damn near impossible to track him down, but Terry had found him with relative ease. Surely Bruce wouldn't have let someone who failed to meet the necessary requirements for being Batman be… Batman. If the rumours were true, it seemed that Bruce had indeed lowered his standards. Or maybe it was just desperation? Slag it, he wasn't really one to talk, his first few outings as the Bat hadn't exactly been up to 'Wayne' standards.

Whatever the circumstances, Terry had found him. Frag it, the Batmobile was better hidden than he was sitting outside Assistant DA Forester's window, listening. The ADA was rotten through and through, but was protected by Marconi. Terry had been trying to get something on him for years. Had Bruce got something on the dreg? Was that why 'el Incompetento wanna be Batman' was spying on him? Forester had most likely spotted him first off and was feeding him any amount of dreg info.

Terry stuck to the shadows and waited. The rain briefly slackened and Batman suddenly stood and began to make his way off the narrow ledge near the window. Shaking at his head in amazement, Terry silently pulled himself up onto the roof opposite and made his way towards the hidden Batmobile. The twip had no idea about stealth and sudden movements. Sure, it had taken him a while to learn the trick to it, but surely Bruce would have 'new Bat' using the suit's camouflage if he wasn't so hot on the sneaking about stuff. Wishing for the umpteenth time that he could reach Bruce, Terry waited.

'Understudy' Batman finally arrived, gingerly landing on the roof, making the wet gravel steam under his jets. It was strange seeing a Batman walking around and knowing that it wasn't him inside the suit. Kinda like when the suit went AWOL – that had been 'so' much fun.

The guy started towards the Batmobile, keying open it's door.

"Nice suit. Make it yourself?"

To his credit, 'kinda on the short side' Batman spun around, batarang in hand, and stared at the shadows concealing Terry. Not wanting to get a batarang flung at his head, Terry stepped into the light, and said, "'Cos you know, I used to have one just like it."

Batman's jaw dropped and the batarang flew from nerveless fingers.

"Terry?"

His stomach dropped. '_No slagging way!'_

"Matt?"

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Nftw: apologies for the brief hiatus – got distracted. Can't promise it won't happen again… sorry. Chapters 9 and 10 are almost ready and will be posted together.

Reviews? Well, let's just put it this way. If you are reading this sentence right now – I want your review! Please?

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	9. Confrontations

a/n: This chapter took me Ages to write and more than one draft. I freaked out a little because it's an important one – heck, it's pivotal.   
So, no pressure, right? Even if it's self inflicted.

Maybe I shouldn't have said that… now you have expectations! Lower 'em, lower 'em!

sigh here you go…

Chapter 9 - Confrontations

"What the hell do you mean, Bruce ain't there?"

"Exactly what I said, bro! The old dreg… er… guy isn't perving … isn't at the Batcave. He's off somewhere playing bingo or bowls or whatever old people do at night."

"What? He'd never… then what's up with Forester?"

"Who? Oh, the lawyer – he's bent, man."

"I know. Why are you following him? What's Bruce got on him?"

"Wayne? Nothing – hell, Ter, I saw the guy at Miss Tracy's, recognised his pic from the vids and thought I'd check it out. And he's bent!"

"I know! Slag it, Matt, what the hell are you doing?"

"Huh?"

"In the suit! What the hell are you doing in that suit?"

"Going to the prom, twip-face!"

"Nice mouth, Matt. What the hell is Bruce thinking? And letting you fly solo! He does know you're out, right?"

"The dreg can stick ... if he does, he doesn't care. It's better without him, anyway. I'm fine."

"Right. So I've heard."

"I'm fine now! Don't look at me like that, I'm fine. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Huh?"

"You're supposed to be in a coma in San Fran. That's why it's my ass in this slagging suit. Gotta keep up the image of the Bat and all."

"I'm 'supposed' to be in a coma?"

"Yeah, man. After I found you beat to a pulp, the old dr.. guy insisted on shipping you off. The whole slagging thing was his idea. I thought you should be here in Gotham but…"

"Wait, wait. Bruce sent me to San Francisco?"

"Yes! I told him…"

"Why? Why there?"

"Some junk about it being the best facility for comas. I tried to…"

"Best facility! If you're into S&M maybe, but … hell… He didn't tell you why, or if there was a plan, or anything?"

"Nah, man. Nothing. Just had me suit up and then laughed his ass off when I messed up."

"Bruce laughed? Out loud?"

"Well, no, but I could tell he thought it was funny. But he sure as hell didn't laugh when I quit."

"So he doesn't know about tonight? Hell, Matt, you can't just…"

"He doesn't slagging care, Ter! But yes, he does know I am doing this again, so quit giving yourself a wedgie, you'll cut the circulation off to your brain."

"At least I have one, twip! Going off alone, making rookie mistakes and acting as if it's all fine is stupid and judging by your track record, I'm surprised you haven't killed anyone!"

"Nice! That's gratitude for you. Thanks a heap Matt for stepping up and looking after my psychotic boss and masked alter ego while I take a vacation in lala land with nurse hotties giving me sponge baths!"

"Matt!"

"No, no, Terry, you don't get to mouth off at me, no frigging way! Not when you've been prancing around in black tights for years and lying to me and to Mom and .. the whole frigging world! You got jack squat rights to anything 'cept a serious ream upside the head! You're slagging Batman, Ter! And … and… you could have been… shit .. you were… how many frigging times did you come home hurt and, and bleeding and just shrug it off as nothing and let Mom think you were into gangs or fight club or something and just let her … worry and me… hell, Ter – when I found you, that – that – that could have been for real, you could really be frigging dead and if Wayne hadn't called, we'd never… you got shit for brains if you think you can just walk back and act as if everything's schway and you're not a dreg liar!"

"Matt, I…"

"Damnit, Terry, you could of… you could have told us, … something!"

"Yeah? And sharing that little secret hasn't bit me in the ass before!"

"You mean, Dana? She knew?"

"No … yes, Dana knew but that's not why the dreg was after her. But it's the same thing, Matt. The people I love get hurt, even those who don't know about Batman. It's just easier… pretending that you're better off not knowing."

"That's crap!"

"It's true, and Bruce agrees – he should know. Batman cost him everything."

"Then why be Batman? Sure, he's schway and all but… "

"You've been 'him' for awhile, Matt. You don't get it?"

"Shit, Ter, I don't know. I do – sorta, but half of me is throwing a freaking party now that I don't have to do this anymore but the other… I guess is a little peeved its over."

"It ain't over, Matt. Not by a long shot. Look, I know I've got some explaining to do and…. we got things to discuss but something sure as hell isn't right with this, with Bruce, with anything. So forget us right now, and start talking – from the beginning."

"Batman takes priority right? Screw the McGinnis's, huh? Hell, we're just family, you can walk right over us and we'll just say thank you."

"No! Hell, Matt, no, its not like that. This more than just Batman, twip! It's Gotham, and innocent lives. If Batman – not me, not you, but Bruce Wayne is acting frigging weird, and the Commissioner is hiding and telephone lines are down and the whole slagging underbelly of Gotham is in a panic over someone, something moving in… it means we have got to figure out what the hell is going on! And since you've been 'supposedly' keeping an eye on things – spill it, twip. Tell me everything."

"Fine, but can I swear? No serious man, can I swear a lot? Got a lot on my chest and you're just about the only dude in the world who would get it, kay?"

"Sure – I might join you."

"So the slagging twip-faced dreg called me and I just about crapped…"

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Short version, please."

"No prob, so the slagging twip-faced dreg called me and I just about crapped…"

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'_Camouflage! Frigging camouflage! The damn suit has camouflage. I am going to deck that old dreg – old or not, he is getting decked! Camo-frigging-flage!_

_Terry just about fell over laughing when he saw my face. Though he stopped when I told I wasn't wearing anything underneath the suit. Serves the twip right – should be grateful that I wore underwear – this time._

_Still, it looks better on him. Hate to admit it, but it does. I looked, ok – sorta. He looks, right. Like he ain't Terry anymore, like Terry is long gone, and its just Batman left. Dreg. And his clothes reek, man! And he actually said yes when I asked if he'd been rolling in sewage! I hope he was kidding._

_His plan had better work and I'm still not too sure he's right about Wayne. The dreg is just plain wacked if you ask me, which Terry didn't and he was getting twitchy when I called Wayne a dreg, like he was itching to disagree or hell, argue. Maybe, he was just itching to get into my pants… ha ha… yeah, incest joke, that's a riot, Matt. Ewww… sudden mental image! Ew, ew, ew!_

_Ah, but he's right about the weirdness and the calls and the coma and well, everything. So, its Batman to the rescue with trusty kid sidekick doing all the twip work. And at least I'm not being sent home, at least I got something to do, even if it's probably a waste of time._

_Is it bad that I screamed like a girl when Terry did that slagging dive in the Batmobile? I'm sure he did it on purpose. _

_Jerk.'_

Matt nervously fingered the lock pick Terry had handed to him earlier. Trying not to breathe too deeply, he checked that no one was around and began to walk as nonchalantly as he could towards the door.

He briefly looked up at the sign above the entrance and sighed.

_Gotham City Kennels_

'I sure hope you're right, Terry.'

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Maria Callas was singing.

Her voice filled every crag, hollow crevice and shadowed nook. Her clear notes pierced the night, chased the shadows, assisted by bright lights and humming machinery. The batmobile slowly came to a stop within the cave, its black metal shape slipping into the artificial light like a sliver of living night.

Her face filled the computer screen, her voice the air and as she sung of hope and love lost, Batman emerged from the Batmobile and made his way towards the hunched figure sitting in front of the computers.

A hand lazily turned the volume down and a firm voice other than Maria's could be heard.

"Busy night?"

"Yep."

"Hmmm.. you been practicing the voice? Scare the bad guys yet?"

"No and yes."

Bruce Wayne swung his chair to face Batman. The pair studied each other, and as Wayne settled into the chair, he steepled his fingers and said wryly, "I've got good news."

"Oh?"

"You remember that mystery guy who sliced your brother up?"

"Little hard to forget."

"Well I found him." Wayne smiled, his face crinkling in genuine mirth.

"Where is he?" Batman asked and took a step closer to Wayne, who continued to smile and said, "In fact, he's right behind you."

Batman spun around to see a man dressed all in black, with two drawn samurai swords. He immediately took up a fighting stance, but the dark warrior remained motionless.

"Don't worry, he won't attack. He's not even real."

Reluctant to take his eyes off the swordsman, Batman glanced at Wayne, who was still grinning. "What?"

"Hologram. Special prototype, first and only one ever made. State of the art weapons programme, designed to eliminate targets with brutal efficiency. It's got every martial art programmed into its software and two very sharp swords, but that's about it."

Relaxing slightly, Batman studied the holographic warrior and asked, "How did you get it?"

His smile now widening, Wayne shrugged, "Oh, did I forget to tell you? I've had it all along."

"What? Oh shit…" Batman leapt backwards, dodging the twin swords as the warrior sprang to life and raced towards him. He barely had time to find his feet, before the thing was on him, stabbing at his chest with frightening speed. "What the… Bruce, call it off!"

He barely heard Wayne's reply, as his entire attention was on avoiding getting skewered but the old man's dry laugh echoed through the cave. "Come on, twip. It only made Bat salsa out of your brother, you won't last 10 seconds."

Narrowly missing a swing at his head, Batman stepped into the space created by the movement and slammed two quick punches at the hologram's face, before spinning out of reach again. The punches were ignored, and barely slowed the programme down as it pressed its attack.

Wayne watched in growing amazement as Batman continued to elude the sword-wielding warrior, a frown replacing his previous smirk. "Seems you've been practicing, twip. Can't have that," he muttered as he fumbled inside his coat, before drawing a black handgun. Somewhat shakily, he pointed the weapon at Batman, trying to get a bead on a nice, vulnerable spot.

Just as he got a good aim on Batman's back, and was about to pull the trigger, a black batarang flew through the air and knocked the gun from his hand, sending it sliding across the floor. Furious, he spun around and saw … Matt McGinnis?

"You!"

"What? You were expecting the Easter Bunny?"

"No, its not…" Wayne stared at the young man before him and then at Batman trading blows with the hologram, "McGinnis!"

"Ah, you're going to have to be a little bit more specific, there are two of us."

Struggling to regain his composure, Wayne growled, "It makes no difference. It gutted him before, it'll do it again."

"Ah, but leaves you with just little old me. Have I mentioned just how much I want to 'discuss' things with you?" Matt smiled, his stiff posture belying the ease in his tone.

Wayne laughed, "Babybat threats! You've got me trembling in my boots, kid."

A loud crash drew their eyes towards the ongoing fight. Terry had fallen through one of the glass display cases and was awkwardly parrying the swords away with Robin's old quarterstaff, struggling to regain his feet.

"Looks like Big Bat is in trouble, twip, better run while you can, cos' it'll be after you next."

Matt tried to focus on Wayne, but he kept glancing back at Terry, who was finally on his feet, so he nearly missed Wayne making a move towards the fallen gun.

"Stop! Don't move!"

The old man paused, an eyebrow raised in amusement, "Or what? You really think you can take me on?"

Matt shook his head, fighting a smile, "Nah, don't need to – he will." And with that he gave a sharp whistle and a dark blur raced down the stairs and straight at Wayne.

With a girlish shriek, Wayne landed on his back, a solid weight of growling flesh on his chest and found himself staring up at the snarling face of Ace. Long lines of salvia glistened from Ace's jaws, and dog was vibrating with restrained anger, deep growls washing over Wayne.

Standing over the pair, Matt sighed, "Now Terry thought you were weird, while I just thought you were being a dreg, and don't get me wrong, you are one, but judging by Ace's reaction, I'm going to have to say, 'Who the hell are you and what have you done with Bruce Wayne?'"

'_Shit, this thing is fast.'_

Terry swung his newly appropriated staff and connected solidly with the hologram, but to no avail. The thing barely slowed and Terry found himself on the back foot again, struggling to keep out of reach of the blades.

Every time he managed to connect with the hologram, a shiver of cold would run through the suit, whether from the electrical interference of the hologram, or from the 'heebie jeebies' of fighting it again. Flashes of the fight in the warehouse kept popping into his head, usually when he could least afford it, and even though he dodged the blows, he'd remember a time when he hadn't.

Despite his best efforts, he was bleeding from a few deep cuts and he hadn't even made a dent on his opponent – there wasn't anything to dent! Grateful that he had space to manoeuvre this time, Terry forced away the memories of darkness and flashing blades. Risking the distraction, he checked on Matt and felt a small part of his mountain of worry ease when he saw Ace pinning 'Wayne' to the floor, Matt standing over them.

'_At least one part of the plan is going smoothly.'_

"Get him off me!"

"Explanations first, then canine removal."

Tearing his terrified gaze from the snarling dog, Wayne shot a hurried look at Batman, who seemed to have regained some ground and was vigorously blocking the warrior with the staff. "You don't really have the time to question me, twip. One miss step and the Bat is going down and not even this .. frigging dog will save you."

Matt swallowed nervously, as Terry slammed his staff into the warrior, which shrugged off the blow and attacked again, unphased. "Call it off, now!"

"Dog, first."

Glaring at Wayne, Matt shook his head, "No, call it off, or Ace will rip your throat out."

"You're not going to kill me, not when 'Bruce Wayne' is missing. Get this animal off me and I'll deactivate the warrior."

Ace shifted a little and trod heaving on Wayne's stomach, making the old man groan. Matt however, was torn. Terry seemed to be holding his own, but all it took was one mistake…

"Fine. Ace, back off."

The dog remained firmly in place, his snout inches from Wayne's face. "Come on, boy. Now!"

Slowly, reluctantly, Ace got off Wayne, edging towards Matt, but staying within striking distance. "Now call it off!"

From the floor, Wayne smirked and said, "No."

"You.. Dreg! Deactivate the slagging thing now!" Ace barked as in agreement, edging closer.

For such an old guy, Wayne moved faster than Matt expected, and launched himself towards the gun, kicking at Ace as he did so.

"Get him, Ace!"

'_Ow, ow, ow!'_

Terry tried not to put too much weight on his right leg, as he fought to regain his balance. A lucky cut had caught his thigh and he bleeding slowly, the only plus side being it hadn't hit an artery. Effectively hobbled, he could no longer dodge the dreg warrior fast enough and had to use the staff more and more to keep the blades from his throat.

'_Come on, Terry, think! Holograms. Holograms mean circuitry … somewhere, a generator … a source… slag it… electricity!'_

Ignoring the sounds of a scuffle behind him, Terry swung at the hologram, created just enough space and leapt backwards, gracefully backflipping away, ignoring his leg which protested the acrobatics. He landed near one of the power cables running into the computer and as the hologram ran at him, he ripped the cable from the wall and jammed the live end into the warrior.

The hologram stopped momentarily and began flickering as the current hit it, but since it was essentially insubstantial, the current had nowhere to go and as Terry tried to connect the cable to one of swords, the hologram moved forward and charged at him. Swinging the live cable at it again, Terry stepped back onto something soft and heard a loud, "Yeouch!"

Startled, he turned and saw Wayne beneath his feet, reaching for a gun and the old man lurched up into him. Off balance, Terry belatedly saw that the warrior was right on top of him and he swung the cable in desperation.

Just then, Ace sprang at Wayne, who surged to his feet, gun in hand, as Terry desperately backstepped to avoid an all too close sword and the pair crashed together, back to back. Unable to dodge the blow, Terry cried out the sword stabbed through his right shoulder and he dropped the live cable. Behind him though, Bruce stiffened as the razor sharp blade passed through Terry, into him.

Matt stared in horror as the warrior stabbed Terry and the blade re-appeared through Bruce Wayne's chest. The old man's face went pale and he vaguely tried to reach for the blade, but as his strength waned, he slowly sank to the floor, a dark stain growing around the blade.

Terry found himself being pulled down and even as he fought to stand, he felt a moment's relief as the hologram abruptly disappeared, the twin swords falling to the stone floor. He joined them with a groan as Bruce's weight dragged the sword down and it took him a moment to figure out what had happened. He kicked the live cable away from them and hissed, "Matt?"

Matt was on his knees, trying to staunch the flow of blood from Wayne. The old guy's eyes were already glazing over and Matt was trying not to panic. "He's bleeding, Ter – everywhere!"

"Matt, Matt…"

"Yeah?"

"Where did the sword come out?"

Terry tried not to moan as Matt shoved against Wayne in desperation and cried, "I think it's his heart, man. Shit…"

"Check his pulse, Matt… Matt! Check his pulse!"

"Kay, kay."

Matt tried to keep one hand on the bunched up trench coat over the wound and the other fumbled at Wayne's neck.

"I can't feel anything!"

"Slag it. Kay, Matt, just keep applying pressure."

Terry looked at the sword in his shoulder and took a deep breath. He grabbed the hilt with his left hand and pulled.

Matt nearly wet himself when Terry screamed and suddenly Wayne was falling over. He tried to slow the old man's descent and gently eased him on to floor. Terry was soon at his side, pulling off his mask and saying, "You still know CPR?"

"Yeah."

"Kay, you pump, I'll breath."

Feeling inordinately relieved that he didn't have to give mouth to mouth to Wayne, Matt silently cursed himself and moved around to give Terry room. His brother bent over Bruce Wayne and started breathing for him.

"I, 2, 3…"

Matt did two compressions when Terry finished his count and then two more, and then two more. They quickly fell into a rhythm and worked steadily, occasionally stopping to check if he had a pulse yet.

Matt lost count of the number of times he heard Terry count off, he just knew his arms hurt. Terry would count and he'd push and before he'd even pulled away, Terry was back, hunched over Wayne. During one of those timeless waits for the count, Matt noticed a small black device fall out of Wayne's breast pocket. It had been spilt into two, probably by the sword and it fell in a dark pool of blood. At Terry's urgent, "15!" Matt snapped back and pumped his two compressions, shooting a worried glance at his brother.

Terry was breathless and as white as sheet, his right shoulder still glistening with oozing blood. He watched Matt and the moment it was his turn, he was back doing the mouth to mouth. Time seemed frozen as they traded places over and over again.

It wasn't until Matt felt Ace nudge him while he waited for his turn, that he thought to stop. Wearily he sat back on his haunches and sighed, "Terry?"

Terry was hunched over Bruce, but he wasn't performing mouth to mouth. He was struggling to catch his breath and he gasped, "Go get… paddles … infirmary…"

"Terry."

"Now, Matt!"

"It went through his heart – he's lost so much blood." Matt was kneeling in blood, it caked his hands and he knew he had blood on his face. '_Not mine, not yours.'_

"Matt!"

"I'm sorry, Terry."

A hollow feeling settled in his stomach as Terry groaned, burying his head in his hands. "No, no.."

Ace nudged Matt again and he absently drew the dog nearer, unconsciously wiping his hands on the dark fur. _'Might as well be ours….'_

Uncertain what to do, Matt stared at the still form of Bruce Wayne. He looked peaceful, but for an insane heart beat Matt half expected him to lurch to life for one more scare, just like in those old horror movies. Wayne remained serenely composed and it was only Terry who came back to reality.

His brother also stared at Wayne, almost as if willing the old guy to live or reveal something or just… anything.

"Ter?"

Swallowing, his eyes suspiciously red, Terry sighed, "Tell me he told you where Bruce is?"

Desperate hope, desperate that it wasn't really Bruce Wayne lying in pool of blood.

"Ah, no but…"

"What?"

"He .. ah.. "

Terry wasn't listening. He was staring at Wayne, mouthing something over and over. Matt tried to hear what it was and Ace pricked up his ears too.

"Please don't be the real Bruce Wayne… please… please."

'_Ditto.'_

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Nftw: uhmm… reviews?

Thanks to everyone who took the time to review Chapter 8, it spurred me on!

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	10. Changeling

Chapter 10: Changeling

At first it hadn't bothered him. The new memories were often better, happier. Childhoods filled with laughter and love. But as the years passed, it began to gnaw on him. What had his own childhood been like? Which child was he? The fat one who laughed, the short one who didn't, or the one who hid beneath his bed?

That thought, slow to come and even slower to disturb, had lead to another unpleasant realisation. What did his face look like? His real face. The one his mother gave him, the one his father's genes contributed towards. Was he old? Still young?

Try as he might, he could not recall with any certainty who he really was. Scattered memories, conflicting and varied beyond belief were his to rifle through – but which were his? The real him?

So he had tried to reverse the process – go back to who he started out being. Tried to purge the false memories, tried to dump the stolen thoughts and dreams. The machine, however, did not allow for removal – only addition. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, realising that he was stuck with whatever face he currently had on – or would choose to become. There was no going back. The 'real' him was as lost as all those others.

He was fairly certain that the scientist had been the first. The old guy had 'cloned' himself by dumping all of his memories and DNA into 'him'. This memory was very clear – he could see his hands moving on the dials, turning the machine on for the first time (was it the first?) and watching as the subject (the real him?) writhed under the currents and lights until hours later he had looked at his duplicate.

The memories however, didn't take. They only stayed in the new brain for a few weeks before being absorbed and broken down. The host brain could remember a few, but the original neural pathways seemed to override the false. The DNA transfer was, fortunately or unfortunately, permanent. Using this memory, this borrowed knowledge, he had tried to wait out the process, see if his old, real, memories came to the fore, but after 3 months of waiting, he had only been more confused.

He still didn't know if he was the original subject, or the homeless man they tried next, or the upstart student who downloaded the professor and then killed him – accidentally, right? In the end, didn't matter because he was stuck. Stuck with a face not his own. He was no longer even sure of how the machine worked, exactly. He knew which dials to turn, how to scan a brain, how to mould his DNA and face and body and everything into someone new – but not how it actually worked. That knowledge was long gone.

Several scientists and professors lodged in his mind had hypothesised that with the memory scan and download, personality traits may be transferred too. So, it was a good possibility that 'he' wasn't even the same person he had started out being. He was a mixture – a combination of dozens of people, their dreams, their hopes, their flaws and strengths.

Personally, he liked the idea of being the spy 'he' scanned and used. That guy's life had been schway! And he had got a whole mess of super lethal skills – for a while. The trust fund kid had been fun too, fast cars and loose women. The kid's father had ruined that though, or was it the grandmother? Someone had noticed his attempts to gain control of the company, so he had had to run before they found the kid's body.

Being a women had been interesting, but a little too weird, so he generally stuck to men. Men whose lives were interesting – more interesting than his had been. Government agents, actors, criminals, business men, the occasional scientist. He had picked up a lot of nice toys along the way, as well as a fairly decent criminal mind. Unfortunately, no matter who he downloaded, he seemed unable to manage his finances once the memories faded. The trust funds disappeared, the companies went bankrupt, the marriages failed and he ended up running.

Leaving behind no DNA other than his 'stolen' hosts' and no one being the wiser of the changeling among them, he had no difficulty in moving on, changing faces and starting over.

Two faces ago, or was it three, he had decided on Bruce Wayne. The old guy was rich, powerful and mysterious. Also, he had a young protégé who he could 'steal' later on once he had control of Wayne Enterprises – that way he wasn't stuck looking like an old dreg. It would take him a while to 'ruin' such a large corporation and he might not have to move on for years. The thought of staying put somewhere, even if only for a while, appealed. His perforce nomadic lifestyle was getting tiring.

Targeting old people was easy, they generally ended up at a hospital at some point. When Bruce Wayne had his third heart attack, a young and upcoming doctor, who did not specialise in cardiology, had visited him late one night. Taking the scan was simple. Previous memories had allowed him to modify the machine to scan an individual remotely and then at his leisure download the new memories and DNA, becoming the 'new' him in a few painful hours.

Once he, as the doctor, started making errors, fatal in some cases, as the neural paths disintegrated, he had disappeared. Eager to start a new life, one of privilege and authority, he had gone back to the lab, and prepped the machine. A brief test load, one designed to ensure that the brain scan was complete and not impartial, which would leave him unable to function until the pathways eroded, revealed something most unexpected.

He had sat pouring over the small memory for hours.

At first he had thought it was a nightmare because he was falling off a building, the ground below rushing up to meet him at a horrifying speed. But just as he thought he would hit, or wake up, or… something, his hand (Wayne's) drew out a small device and shot out a thin line and he swung on a graceful arch through the streets, landing on a distant rooftop. A heady rush of adrenalin surged through him and without thought he leapt off the building, a distant figure in sight. Cold satisfaction leeched into the adrenalin as he identified the man running away as Scarecrow. He wasn't going to get far….

As the memory ended, he couldn't stop grinning. Of all the men to scan, of all the lives to steal! He had stumbled onto the best kept secret identity. Bruce frigging Wayne was Batman. Initially, he contemplated using the knowledge to blackmail the old twip but wiser memories cautioned against dealing with the Great Detective. The man was not to be trifled with, and considering who his enemies had been… No.

Realising that it would take more planning than usual to replace this old superhero – especially since there was a new Bat in Gotham, he had decided to wait a while. Plan a little more. Becoming Bruce Wayne had just opened up an entire world of possibilities – and dangers. And he was fairly certain that this would be the first time that he'd be effectively replacing two people.

So he had planned – or tried to at least. It was then that the most frightening realisation hit. As much as he longed to know if his childhood home was the small English cottage in Surrey or the dingy tenth floor tenement building in Chicago, or what he really looked like, the shattering realisation that he was falling apart shook him to the core. The memories seemed to be fading faster and he was struggling to think clearly once they did so. The 'real' him, the one left behind once the scan faded was failing to function. He could work the machine in his sleep, but he found himself staring at a can opener for hours, trying to figure out if he knew how to work it. Sleep became a frightening experience, as scattered, fragmented memories morphed into vivid nightmares and he often awoke, uncertain as to who he was.

Eventually, after becoming another scientist, he had figured out a timeframe. After downloading a scan, he had a few days in which he truly thought he was whoever he had stolen. As his 'true' personality reasserted itself, he had at most a month in which he would remember enough of the stolen life to pass for the individual. After that, he would fail to remember more and more and people who knew the individual would begin to suspect the strange behaviour.

Frustrated, knowing that this meant he'd have to move on from each new life sooner than he'd want, he had hit on another brilliant idea. What if he kept the 'real' person alive? Instead of killing them and replacing them, instead keep them in stasis or hidden or … something. And then rescan them as their personality faded.

This would bring its own plethora of problems, like hiding the real person and keeping them alive without drawing attention. And any new download would only start at their most recent memory and not his and if the original person thought they were kidnapped or imprisoned, for the first few days he would act as if he suddenly found himself free and that could potentially ruin his plans.

Tempted to just forget the whole thing, as it gave him a headache just thinking about the complications, he nearly purged Bruce Wayne's scan rather than embark on such an ambitious con. In the end he did not and decided to embrace another life and leave Wayne for the moment.

It was that life, one of a young executive in a telecommunications firm that made his mind up. He had been sitting at a computer terminal, transferring funds from his boss' account into his personal one when the headline on the news vid caught his eye.

'_Wayne Enterprise Re-opens Applied Science Department'_.

A kernel of an idea was born. If he had hundreds of scientists at his disposal, as Bruce Wayne of course, maybe they could figure out a way to stabilise his brain or fix him or bring the 'real' him back. Resolving then and there to become Bruce Wayne, he tried to make a mental note, hoping that he would indeed remember it.

Remember: don't kill the real 'Bruce Wayne'.

_I gave my life away  
There's nothing left to say._

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Nftw: Reviews: )

Please let me know if 'pivotal' chapters were good or just plain awful. Or gasp disappointing?

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	11. Aftermath

Chapter 11 - Aftermath

'_You know that silence, that kinda ominous silence? You know, all loomy and tension-ridden, the kind in scary movies where the crazed mutant hatchet wielding psycho is about to jump out and hack the hero's soon to be dead best friend? Yeah, that kind of silence. Well, I don't like that kind of silence much, haven't ever since I watched The Grudge when I was 6 – scared the pants right off me – literally! Granted, Mom's reaction when I crawled into her bed crying about screaming ghosts wasn't too schway either – traumatic to say the least, but hey, don't like those silences. _

_And the Batcave is just oozing that silence now – the expectant hush before imminent violence. Only, the violence is already over and it's like the silence hasn't quite got the message. Or, maybe the Cave always feels this way when Batman is in residence – which to be fair, is the first time in months that he is.' _

'_Batman.'_

Matt watched from the shadows of the alcove near the crays, the same alcove in which mysterious doctors had worked feverishly to save Terry. The alcove where Bruce Wayne now lay.

Matt had absolutely no intention of going out in the Cave, none whatsoever, no matter how pale and drawn Terry was looking. His brother was slumped in front of the massive screen, his tired body held up only by the comfortable chair he slouched in. He had let Matt bandage his chest, doctor a few of the cuts, but other than that, he was intent on ignoring his wounds. Bare-chested, swathed in inexpert bandages, he sat listening to what would otherwise have been a funny argument.

Normally, Matt would have been excited to see or talk to the large number of individuals Terry had vid-conferenced but today was far from normal. That and he felt no small measure of guilt for the part that he had played in this fiasco. Dumb was the least of the names he had recently bestowed upon himself.

Mask in place, Batman had called the JLU, Commissioner Gordon, Tim Drake and Dick Grayson, and had told them everything. Initial reactions aside, Matt cringed as most of the collected super-beings slash heroes slash retired Robins commented how they should have realised something was up with a suddenly 'clumsy' Batman and a weird Bruce and Matt couldn't help but wish someone had questioned that, dug a little deeper, been less involved in their world-saving activities.

_It's not like you guys don't talk or anything. Surely me or rather Batman not asking for help shoulda raised flags or signals or whatever… hmm.. maybe not, considering who Batman's supposed to be but still … you're supposed to be 'super' hence the 'super' in superheroes._

Terry seemed to handle their questions well enough, but as they started to debate how best to find Bruce, or who the fake could have been, or sent by, Terry slowly started to fade, and instead of participating in the conversation, just sat back and watched them argue.

Superman was all for an 'alien' invasion explanation, which the rest of the JLU seemed to support, but Tim Drake was championing mind-manipulation or implants or something, which unfortunately meant that Bruce was probably dead. Commissioner Gordon offered no personal explanation; save that any number of Batman's enemies, new and old could be involved, in particular Spellbinder or Scarecrow as prime suspects. Dick Grayson seemed to be arguing out of habit, disagreeing with everyone but offering no tangible solution, his face drawn and solemn.

'_I suppose it's a good thing I'm not standing up there, trying to stammer my way through this. Guess it's not everyday you misplace a superhero.'_

Terry eventually sat up straighter when Tim suggested coming over to the Mansion and Grayson actually agreed, and said clearly, "No, Tim. There's no guarantee that Bruce is even in Gotham. The Fake stuck me in Frisco, so Bruce could be anywhere. I suggest we use what resources we have and start looking."

An array of faces stared back at him. Commissioner Gordon nodded and said stiffly, "I'll be over in an hour." She ended the call and her screen went blank. Grayson merely nodded and ended his call too. No doubt he'd be revisiting his old Nightwing contacts for info on a missing billionaire.

'_Cept no one but us knows he is missing.'_

Tim smiled warmly at Terry and offered a few reassurances before signing off. Superman sighed, and gave Terry a wry grin.

"We'll find him."

And with that, the Man of Steel was gone, leaving behind a rotating JLU logo. Terry dragged a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and fought off a groan. Still within the shadows, Matt glanced at the covered body behind him before staring at his brother again.

He didn't really want to play hovering mother-hen, but when he saw Terry's hand tremble, he thought maybe brother-hen was in order . It was a measure of how tired Terry was that he actually flinched when Matt laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, bro. Lets get you upstairs."

Terry remained seated, his face vacant as he stared up at the rotating JLU logo.

"They'll find him, Ter. Don't worry."

Terry McGinnis may have looked like a train, or in this case, a holographic warrior had run over him, but his voice was firm – resolute.

"No, Matt. We are going to find him."

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'Matt behind you.'

"Slag it!"

'Left, left – your other left!'

"Slag! Slag!"

'Duck, hit him – harder, no…. argh…'

"Son of a …"

'Yes, yes, no, no, punch him, the other guy, kick, no, yes!'

"Shut up!"

'Watch out! Ow… you okay?'

"Just shut up… kay?"

'6 o'clock!'

"Huh?"

'Behind you!'

"Oh, ow… ow…"

'Punch him already!'

"Shut up! Frigging backseat Batman! You're worse than Wayne!"

'Fine, I'm shutting up.'

"OW, hell, Terry, you could have mentioned that guy at least. Terry? Terry? Ah, come on now, don't bug out on me now!"

'As if, twip. I'm busy checking on who owns this warehouse of fun and the answer is a no brainer.'

"Ah, who?"

'Marconi.'

"Oh. Who?"

'The guy Fake Bruce was targeting, the current 'big' goon in Gotham. At least until next month.'

"Oh. Who?"

'Antoni Marconi! He runs most of Gotham's underworld and has been under attack for the past month, while you've been messing around with Jokerz.'

"So what, we're protecting the mob now?"

'No, dreg. But if someone is muscling in on the mob, then a lot of innocent people tend to get hurt. And since it was 'Bruce Wayne' muscling in, a lot of people have been hurt. Bruce knows.. knew.. knows a lot of juicy stuff and judging by the amount of bribes being handed out, Fako Bruce had a lot of people in his pocket.'

"Oh. Why?"

'Don't know yet. That's what we're trying to figure out, remember?'

"I thought we were trying to find the 'real' Bruce?"

'We are. Just might be easier finding out what the Fake was doing and maybe that'll lead us to the real Bruce.'

"If he was a fake. I mean, the old guy could have just flipped and gone all evil… or.. brainwashed or .."

'NO! That wasn't Bruce! Not even psycho Bruce – psycho Bruce would have never let me live or you be Batman or anything… Psycho Bruce would be scary – very scary.'

"Or just a plain nut-job like our Wayne was. Psycho don't necessarily mean super evil smart."

'With Bruce, yes it does. Even if he flipped, Bruce would be smarter than both of us. Nah, this guy was smart – but not that smart.'

"You sure? Absolutely positive?"

'No.'

"Well, in that case, where to next, oh Injured Brother? What wrongs must I right? What old ladies must I assist across the street? How much wood must my woodchuck chuck if my woodchuck could chuck wood?"

'Knock it off, twip. Maybe it's time we chatted to Marconi directly. Rather than try piece together what Fako was doing, go straight to the target.'

"Schway! Squeezing a mob boss!"

'I think if there's any squeezing to be done.. it'll be done by me.'

"Hello? Is this thing working? Did I hear you right?"

'Yes it's working, now bring the suit back and …'

"No, no, come on. I can do it."

'Matt.'

"No, Terry, I can. Please?"

'No.'

"It's not like you can stop me or anything…"

'You wanna bet?'

"Yeah!"

'Matt, Marconi is going to have security up the wazoo after Fako's Slice and Dice machine has been chopping up his empire, you really think he's going to just let you stroll in and have a nice chat over tea and biscuits.'

"Like you'll be any better? At least I haven't been sliced – twice! And let a nifty hole in the batsuit. Kinda drafty in here now, dontachaknow?"

'Camo-frigging-flage?'

"Hell, Ter, I know about it now… come on, please…"

'No. You come back here and be backseat Batman.'

"Ahhh… come on!"

'NO!'

"I'll just go, and by the time you limp out here, I'll have stooled the pigeon and got the low down on the … low downs and…"

'Be a nice big puddle of bat mush… I'll arrive just in time to wipe what's left of you off the floor, Matt.'

"Yeah, right."

'Yeah… right, Matt, 'cos these guys ain't Jokerz or twip muggers. Trained, serious mobsters with itchy trigger fingers and pea-sized brains and…'

"Ah, Ter?"

'What? Ah, hell, Matt… just … stay calm. Act … like … not like you usually do…'

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Dilbert was no ordinary hacker. He was brilliant, naturally, otherwise it'd be difficult to be a master hacker and not just a random wanabee loser but he was far from ordinary.

If asked to describe a 'hacker', average Joe American would probably mention something about counter-culture or if he was a true Joe Shmoe, it be 'weirdo', with greasy hair and pale skin, either a super nerd with minimal social skills or a grunge rock cum Goth with black nails, piercings, blue hair and a God-complex.

Secret plans for designing a sex-bot aside, Joe Average would probably be spot on, albeit acknowledging that 'counter-culture' could indeed also refer to an average looking jock being a hacker (however unlikely) but the fact remained – you hear the word hacker and an immediate media-induced visual image appears inside Average Joe's mind.

And Dilbert was most definitely not it.

Named after the 20th century comic strip, Dilbert was neither nerd or jock. While one might be tempted to class him as a 'nobody' or as one of the 'nameless and invisible' ordinary folk, one would be wrong. He was fairly handsome, somewhat athletic, moderately smart in a genius sort of way and the perfect employee at First Asian Bank where he neither created nor generated waves of any sort.

If there was a radar to blip, Dilbert blipped it politely and went on his law-abiding way. He was married, had two point five children (i.e. pregnant wife) and owned a Volvo. Paid his gym contract on time, regularly went to the shooting range and dealt with his stress in an entirely normal fashion and regularly visited his great Aunt Gertrude.

So what made Dilbert a great, nay, super hacker? How was it that the Bat-family, extended and former were aware of his presence when the cyber community at large was generally ignorant of his giant footsteps across their world?

Because, Dilbert had received not one, but three separate requests to circumspectly search the web for traces of Bruce Wayne. He had received three times his normal fee from one of the clients, for discretion and secrecy and Dilbert's non-existent reputation was one of absolute discretion in any case.

The story of their acquaintance was a long one, and unlikely to be told by any of the parties involved. Suffice it to say that Dilbert would occasionally get a request that bore the telltale marks of a Bat inclined person (or nocturnal bird) and he would attend to the request post haste.

For here was the crux – the rationale behind Dilbert's secret life as a hacker. He believed that he was an inter-dimensional being trapped on earth by mysterious forces intent on retrieving the knowledge he had of alternate realities. The internet, and cyber space in general, held the answer to his way home, he felt, and as a result he had bent his considerable intellect at mastering its mathematical ways. He maintained the 'ordinary' and nondescript life so as to mislead 'Them' and employed great skill and cunning in searching the archives of humanity for a way home.

And if in the process of his binary quest, he happened to stumble across information that was of value to someone else, he was not above selling it at a reasonable rate. His clients were few and select, and whatever their thoughts on his mental state or the possibility that his 'delusions' were real, they remained satisfied customers. Granted, he only vaguely remembered his former life or previous reality, but he recognised the role heroes played in this one in countering the forces of evil. It was also possible he half-imagined himself as a co-warrior for good, battling for humanity and the right to buy a cappuccino unmolested.

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Dilbert dexterously sliced his way through firewalls, secure sites and closed networks in his search for Bruce Wayne. It may have occurred to a lesser and far baser hacker to sell the information of Mr Wayne's disappearance to a newsvid or something, but Dilbert had no intention of doing so, even when the same request to locate Bruce Wayne came from Lois Lane. None of his clients would know of each others' requests and each would receive the same result.

When he eventually found an answer.

Although no manmade or alien implanted security measure could stop him, the location of Bruce Wayne was elusive. Morgues, hospitals, clinics, insane asylums, old age homes, recent burial records – all presented themselves promptly and timeously. And failed to elucidate. He ran searches to match DNA against crime reports and medical records – and turned up a few cold cases in which Batman was implicated. These were carefully erased – it did not pay to have your best client exposed, even after all these years.

The fathomless depths of cyberspace remained silent. He searched for unusual reports of geriatric men behaving oddly, tried to pry into the myriad life of Bruce Wayne to trace unusual purchases or payments. All to no avail. Operating and funding a vigilante service for decades had resulted in Wayne leaving minimal traces of his activities.

The only glimmer of light was a personal one. A badly protected clinic server in San Fransciso revealed that a patient of African American heritage with pink hair had assaulted a nurse. Punched her squarely on the nose, it seemed.

Smiling to himself, Dilbert began the process to access the security camera feed and perhaps locate a missing cyber friend, whose absence from the Gotham chat rooms had been sorely missed.

And besides, if she knew one Bat, perhaps she knew the other.

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For a blissful half hour the halls of Hamilton High had been silent, filled only with the quiet hum of busy classrooms. The moment the electronic bell sang out its tinny tune, the silence was shattered by the sound of many feet, raised voices, slamming doors, lockers and books. For a brief and hurried 5 minutes, the halls would be subjected to an influx of students slowly making their way to their next class. Amidst the noisy din, two friends hurriedly conversed.

"Hey, Matt! There a reason you got a black eye and arthritis over night?"

"Yes."

"You going to tell me what it is?"

"No."

Danny Soltez's laugh was swallowed by the sound of Mickey Donough belching loudly but Matt McGinnis caught the tail end of the chuckle.

"Kay. Does it have anything to do with big brother finding out about your mutual 'girlfriend'?"

Ben Fitzgerald shoved past Matt, desperate to reach his locker before his girlfriend saw the lipstick kisses Missy had left.

Matt's eyes went wide as Ben disappered into the crowd and he mouthed 'Shit!'. He shook his head, even as Ben's girlfriend's tirade could be heard over the din.

"You sure? Terry didn't 'express' his disapproval?"

"No, man. Its not… he doesn't… crap."

"Forgot about the whole 'she thinks you're him', huh?"

"Sorta."

Both kids had to step aside suddenly and hug the wall as the football team trotted through the crowd like the proverbial bulls in a china shop, opening up a path for the cheerleaders behind them.

Danny grinned at Matt, even as he covertly ogled the passing short skirts and tight tank tops.

"Well cheer up, dude. You got an hour of gym class to escape from the woes of your life."

Matt, oblivious of skirts and tops uttered a mournful groan.

_Self defence for the Wimps._

Every year, Coach Warren taught a self defence class during gym in which the puny would flail futilely against stronger opponents, trying to escape various attacks or holds. It was an annual tradition both feared and enjoyed – depending on whether you got your face pressed into a smelly armpit or if you were the owner of the armpit.

Fortunately, Matt got paired with Danny. The holds were demonstrated, kids blinked in confusion and the order to 'get to it' was given.

Chaos ensued.

"Ow ow, what are you doing Matt?"

"Hey, It worked! Oh sorry… "

"Yeah it worked, now let me up."

"Well…"

"Matt!"

"Alright."

Danny stood up and made a big show of dusting himself off, glaring all the while at Matt.

"Where'd you learn that? 'Cos that sure as hell wasn't what Coach showed us?"

"Terry."

"Big bro?"

"Only got one."

"Schway! What else did he show you?"

Matt glanced around, making sure no one was paying particular attention to them. Coach was on the far end of the gymnasium, trying to convince weedy Gavin to attack hulky David.

Grinning, Matt, tried to remember another 'move' Terry had shown him.

"Ah, let me see – something about, stepping there, wait, you come at me from behind and I .. wait..no..ah, you grab here, and I …lean…"

"OW!"

"Crap!"

Thud!

The sound of flesh hitting gym mat was not unexpected, but Matt and Danny certainly were surprised.

"McGinnis! Soltez! When you two have finished feeling each other up, pay attention!"

Bright red and rapidly extracting themselves, they both murmured, "Yes coach."

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"Where are you?"

Ace pricked his ears up at the sad voice, his tail momentarily twitching in response. He was laying under the extended console of the Batcave computer, nestled near the feet of the only human he really considered a viable alternative to Bruce Wayne.

When the sound of typing once again filled the immediate area, Ace relaxed.

Still busy.

Viable Alternative was either in the Batcave working or out in the Batsuit. Even when his young brother left, the promise to relax and rest was ignored almost instantly. It didn't matter what the hour was in the outside world, in the Batcave it was always night, always time for Batman to work.

And work he did.

Clues, hints, traces, rumours, tall tales, whispers and insinuations were all followed, checked and re-checked. Favours were called in, threats made, promises broken and sworn – no rock, no matter how unlikely, was left unturned. Every considerable resource of Bruce Wayne was being dedicated to finding its owner.

A sigh echoed through the Batcave, and Ace shifted a little closer to the legs above him. The smell of old blood, and fear still lingered in the room. A half-eaten meal lay neglected on the console above, its aroma even unappetising to Ace.

Terry sat back in the chair, trying to ease the ache in his shoulder momentarily. The large screen before him was abuzz with information, multiple windows running search programmes and tracing information.

It may have only been two days since his 'return' but Terry felt as if it had been a week. A vague sense of time running out was haunting him and while he had no solid reason for this fear, it remained a constant companion. Certainly, it helped that he was not the only one searching, but every failure seemed to doom Bruce further.

Trying to trace Fake Bruce's footsteps was proving impossible. The change in Bruce Wayne had been subtle and slow, the employees at Wayne Enterprises only really noticing it in the last two weeks – and most of them chalking it up to a bad mood. Only those closest to him might have noticed his odd behaviour sooner but anyone with such a privileged position had been removed.

The chaos Fake Bruce had caused in Gotham was a convenient cover for his true objective. So many other mob bosses, crime lords and street thugs had taken advantage of the confusion, the dead phone lines, the mysterious assassinations, that positively identifying the Fake's handiwork was difficult in the extreme. The city had degenerated into a craze of bribes, hired thugs, conflicting plans, outright confusion and a morass of frightened people all scrambling to hide from the dark terror unleashed on Gotham – and not its usual variety. The apparent disappearance of Gotham's one time billionaire play boy had gone unnoticed – because technically he'd only been missing for two days. Technically, but not actually.

It was a good while later when Ace's ears pricked up again. Familiar footsteps echoed down the stairs and the dog whined happily as she entered the room.

Commissioner Gordon sighed at the sight before her and moved towards Terry. He was sleeping on the console, his arms pillowing his weary head, and a trickle of drool escaping parted lips. She glanced at the screen, noting its still frantic searches and sighed again.

"So, kid. Do I let you sleep or tell you the news?"

"Hell, B. Wake him. We can all sleep when we find Bruce."

Tim Drake hurried down the stairs as he spoke, and Ace rose to his feet, effectively rousing Terry who peered blearily at Barbara and Tim before asking groggily, "Ya got something?"

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'_If this were a cheesy art flick or romance schmultz, I'd be wearing a fedora hat, trenchcoat and smoking a soggy cigarette. So, one out of three doesn't make me an idiot, right? And I'm talking to myself like a … cunning private eye… lurking stalker…. idiot?' _

'_Hell, if it was raining, I could tick off that cliché too!'_

The sky was indeed clear of clouds, rain and all other forms of inclement weather. The stars, never exactly clearly seen in Gotham, remained fuzzy specs above and the night time gloom was harassed by manmade illumination.

The largest source of artificial light was the rotund neon donut of immense portions proudly announcing that _Ginger's _donut shop was open for business. Two patrol cars were parked outside, their occupants completing the latest cliché of the evening.

Except one.

She was leaning against the hood of the nearer patrol car, nursing a cup of _Joel's_ coffee, waiting for her partner. Matt, not usually one for authority figures and law enforcement, thought she looked damn hot.

Hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, her bulky uniform doing nothing to hide her curves and the handcuffs… well they just added to the general 'hotness'.

Officer Delaney.

He had stood her up the other night and what with their meetings being more clandestine than anything else, he had had no way of apologising or explaining. Not that any explanation involving the sudden return of the real Batman and the demise of a fake Bruce Wayne would be believed or used.

Between helping Terry, trying to convince his mother he wasn't loosing his mind or soul to drugs, sleeping through school and nursing a considerable number of bruises, romance had taken a back seat. Despite all of the above, Officer Delaney and her ponytail had never been really far from his mind.

Matt stared at her, half hoping that she would notice him, in a distant alley, and half not. He had absolutely no intention of meeting up with her as Batman with Terry tagging along on the other side and Big Brother had refused point blank on letting him take the suit out solo. Luckily, the two short forays Terry had made as Batman had not resulted in an embarrassing meeting requiring rapid explanation – that Matt was aware of, at least.

So while Terry was meeting with Commissioner Gordon and Tim Drake, who had decided that a Bat-family emergency meeting was in order after all, Matt had slipped out, sans batsuit of course. He had been avoiding the Commissioner ever since their initial meeting and her brief, but shattering, lecture of proper behaviour for vigilantes in Gotham. With no desire for a repeat, Matt had decided to call upon Officer Delaney – somehow.

Tracking her down hadn't been too hard, he knew her patrol route pretty much by heart. The real difficulty lay in the approach.

'_Hi. I'm Batman. Please don't laugh … or shoot me. Wanna go steady? Yeah, right!'_

The plan, a hastily and hopefully not too foolish one, was to deliver a bouquet of flowers on behalf of the Dark Knight. The bouquet included a brief, somewhat churlish note breaking up their kinda confused relationship of two minutes, consisting mostly of stolen kisses.

Yep, a regular cowards way out. And if it meant that she avoided Terry, all the better. And if it didn't, well one more cop hating Batman wasn't that unusual and well, an unexpected slap was just about all Terry deserved for leading her on.

'_And he did, man. I just acted on the seeds he planted. She was very friendly – very – before I .. we… I suck, I suck big time.'_

So, tonight would be his acting debut on the stage of failed romance and Matt McGinnis, one time Batman who now occasionally helped the Dark Knight out, remained firmly in the shadows, no closer to his goal.

Officer Delaney.

'_Come on, McGinnis. This isn't love … it's just .. lust, or a crush or something… not love. Definitely not love … for her either. She's just got a thing for dark and mysterious men… definitely not boys. Men! Just walk over there, hand her the flowers, and run… yeah, run.'_

Knowing that he was running out of time, and that her partner would soon return with an armload of donuts, Matt tried to will his feet forward. Delaney took another long sip of her coffee and stared melancholy into her cup.

'_Go, go! Do it!'_

Almost on their on accord, his feet took the first hesitant steps and he was moving towards her, large bouquet of roses in hand.

"Hey, ah, Miss? Officer?"

She looked up, her eyes wary but softening when she realised he was just a kid… with flowers. He almost smiled when he noticed that she kept a firm hand on her gun and despite her smile, watched him carefully.

'_So hot!'_

"Yes?"

"Ah, ah… some guy asked me to give you this!" He thrust the bouquet towards her, but she made no move to take it, suspiciously staring at him now.

"Some guy? What'd he look like?"

"Ah, not too sure. It was dark and … well… he paid me twenty bucks, pointed you out and … well…"

'_Nice, Matt. Real smooth.'_

She still didn't take the flowers, and instead stood up straight and looked down the street behind him as if she could spot his 'mystery' man.

"It was dark? Come on, kid – what'd he look like?"

'_Crap, McGinnis, should have gone with a phoned in order – plain old delivery kid from an … all night flower shop?'_

"Please, ma'am, just take the flowers. So you got a secret admirer or something… a .. a .. flower buying knight or .. something…"

'_Knight? Knight!'_

Officer Delaney stared at him, her cool gaze unerring as she searched his face for something. Matt tried not to gulp or twitch, or let his almost undisguised longing to kiss her again show on his face. She must have noticed his appreciating look as she glowered at him, because she got a little angrier.

"This 'Knight'? He say anything else?"

"Ah.. no. No. Just said, give it to you and .. and .. beat it."

She glared at the flowers for a moment before sighing and reluctantly taking them from him. She spotted the card and shot him a nervous look and Matt decided to beat a hasty retreat.

"Kay, great. Thanks…see ya."

His feet were swifter to comply this time and he ran back to his little alley, and spun around hoping that she hadn't followed him.

She hadn't. Officer Delaney was still standing next to the patrol car, the bouquet now resting on its roof. She had his note in her hand and was reading it. Matt couldn't really see her expression from his distant spot, and he couldn't tell if she was upset or angry.

She stared at the note for far longer than was required to read it and it was only her partner's arrival that broke her intense gaze at the small white paper. Matt watched as she blushed when Officer Fisher noticed the flowers and said something smart. She quickly stuffed the card in her pocket and carelessly tossed the flowers into the car.

In a few heartbeats, her patrol car was out of sight and Matt leant against the alley way, ignoring years of dirt and grime and sighed, "Sorry."

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Nftw:

A combination of RL and writers block delayed this chapter. That and I decided to hold back one of the story arcs of this fic for a separate fic and while that decision makes this the second last chapter of the Jerk, it took forever for me to make it. So apologies for the HUGE delay.

Reviews? Well, since this is the penultimate chapter, and the next is almost complete, you don't absolutely have to – but it'd be nice : )


	12. Batman vs DinoBoy Round 2

Chapter 12: Batman vs DinoBoy – Round Two

The Bi-Centennial celebrations were still a month away, but Gotham's Metropolitan Museum of History and Culture had got the party started early. Under the inscrutable eye of Professor Jones, the staff of the GMMHC had spent months preparing an exhibit on Gotham's history, charting its growth from a small fishing town, to the second largest city on the Eastern seaboard, rivalling Metropolis for largess and grandeur.

It had taken a great deal of argument and multiple heated meetings, but eventually Professor Jones was persuaded by his enthusiastic staff to include Gotham's more colourful history and not simply have the exhibit reflect its more normal and mundane past.

Associate Professor Dean Knox had volunteered to undertake this mammoth part of the exhibit and several interns and assistants had joined him. Initially given a miniscule portion of space in the Main Hall for their project, the young history buffs had wheedled and negotiated more space from their colleagues and not even the most staid or pretentious professor could deny that the end result was truly spectacular.

Their admiration faded somewhat when it became abundantly clear which section of the exhibit was the most popular with the public. At the opening gala event, more of the wealthy and famous patrons and socialites of Gotham lingered near Knox's exhibit than any other. When hordes of school children could not be budged from that portion of the tour, long suffering Museum Guides had to reduce time spent on other exhibits, just so the eager children could ogle to their hearts content. Knox's exhibit was such an initial success that the marketing department of the Museum changed their advertising strategy and soon large posters proclaiming the wonders of the exhibit appeared all over Gotham. And of course, the crowds flocked in.

Much to Professor Jones' dismay, horror and outright disgust, he agreed to expand Knox's exhibit, which after a furious week of work was moved to its own room and still the crowds came. Already the Board of Directors for the Museum were discussing making that exhibit a permanent one.

And so it was, that Alan Torres, retired businessman joined the long lines of Gothamites waiting to see the exhibit, 'Gotham's Heroes and Villains.'

He paid the mandatory $20, and shuffled into the darkened interior of the main exhibit, 'Gotham: A City of Change.' He, like many others, ignored the collected displays on fishing, mining, business giants and depressions and headed straight for the 'Heroes and Villains' display. There, arrayed in all their glory and infamy, waited the most notorious and colourful of Gotham's citizens.

Knox and his team had outdone themselves, and while many of the individuals represented may have disagreed with the accuracy of the facts and accounts, to the average Gothamite it was a dazzling array.

The exhibit charted the earliest appearance of a 'weird' criminal and Batman's unknown origins. An interactive timeline called up the most dramatic and horrific events, displaying news footage and amateur video of Joker, Two Face, Mr Freeze, The Riddler, Inque, Spellbinder, Blight and countless others threatening Gotham. An entire wall was dedicated to the Heroes, and their questionable at times motives. Batman, Robin, Nightwing, Batgirl, and the Batmobile were all categorised, described and commented on. Even Gotham's newest Caped Crusade, sans cape, had a display. The villains definitely outnumbered the heroes, despite the occasional appearance of other superbeings. The JLA and JLU, Teen Titans and many others had small displays or commentaries.

Costumes, weapons, sidekicks, known aliases, rumours, myths, hard facts were all represented. A miniature Bat signal swept over the room periodically, and Joker's maniacal laugh echoed repeated through the room as kids activated the 'Inside Joker's Head' display. Decades of the weird and wonderful characters of Gotham were crammed into the room.

Alan Torres slowly made his aged way around the room. He lingered over some of the displays watching as Batman chased Scarecrow through Gotham Plaza, and then as Golem smashed its way through that same Plaza, years later. He eventually stopped near the 'Rogues Gallery' display which recounted all of the colourful criminals in Gotham's history – recent and old. Each 'villain' was pictured, with a small biography of facts and guesses and a rating given on how dangerous or threatening he, she or it had been.

Torres flicked through the files, and slowly as his search intensified, he ignored the swirling crowds around him. A plethora of information scrolled under his questing fingers and still he failed to find what he sought. Minutes dragged past and a growing fury grew on his face. Oblivious patrons bustled past him, ignorant of the brewing anger. It was only when an impertinent child began tugging on his coat, demanding that he 'give me a turn!' that Torres looked up, scowled and stalked away.

Several unlucky Gothamites were treated to an angry snarl or glare when they inadvertently crossed his path, as he prowled through the room, studying pictures and newsvids seemingly at random. Finally, either reaching a decision or boiling point, he shot the room and its cornucopia of memorabilia a scathingly venomous look and shoved his way past the crowds to make his exit.

His passage out of the museum was marked by exclamations and gasps as he continued to shove and jostle past the crowds, muttering under his breath all the while. One startled women vaguely heard him growl, "Not even a slagging paragraph or picture," while one gentlemen distinctly heard him exclaim, "I damn well pulverised this city, and nothing… not even a … a byline!"

Fortunately for the collected patrons, Torres soon found himself outside in the late afternoon air of central Gotham. He turned and shook an angry fist at the Museum and quickly whistled for a taxi. As the black car pulled up to the sidewalk, Torres growled loudly to no one in particular, "I'll show them. I'll show them all."

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Matt was asleep, his head supported by a hand under his chin. He usually spent History in a like manner, which was why he was now sleeping through Detention. School had just let out, and there were still crowds of Hamilton High Students lingering on the front steps and car park.

There were only a few other students in Detention with Matt, most of whom were also catching up on a few z's and a very bored Ms Franks was engrossed in a trashy romance novel. Matt favoured the desk by the big window, it usually offered the best distraction if sleep eluded him. He was having an odd dream about mixing cement to bake a cake, when the mixture in the bowl started screaming.

Startled, he sat up, the screams still echoing in his head and he blinked to try clear his head. The dream faded but the screams didn't. In fact they sounded as if they were coming from outside. Matt turned to look out the window and to his astonishment saw a giant leg go past. Thinking for a moment that he was still dreaming, Matt twisted in his seat to see if the leg appeared in the next window and when the kid behind him gasped, "Woah!" he knew he wasn't dreaming.

Matt leapt from his chair and ran from the room, followed by the rest of Detention. Ms Franks, oblivious to it all, giggled and turned the next page. By the time Matt and his co-delinquents reached the back of the school, they were just in time to see a giant robotic dinosaur flatten a series of lampposts before turning a corner and taking out a portion of the building alongside it in the process. The sound of cars honking and screeching to a halt announced its progress down the one way street and the group collectively exclaimed, "Schway!"

Matt, however, was already running for his bike.

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It wasn't the same clinic that he had been in, but Terry was taking no chances. He had slipped into the Batsuit, much to Tim's disapproval and had flitted to a handy ledge on the second floor and had started a circumspect investigation.

Their flight on Bruce's private jet had been a pretty silent one, both men lost in thought. Picking up a car at the airport had taken way too long in Terry's opinion, and naturally, it was not the Batmobile, but Tim insisted on driving, citing something about pain medication and crazy Bat tendencies.

Tim had parked and then gone in to the clinic to try and charm some information out of a nurse or two. Terry, certain that if Max was here, she wouldn't be easy to see, let alone extract, had activated the suits camouflage and started his own mission. Terry peered carefully into every window he could, feeling more than a little 'peeping tomish'.

After a dozen windows, he had seen old people, young kids and grumpy jocks, but no Maxine. Using the suit's listening aids, he even heard Tim working his magic on a perky candy-striper, who was giggling despite Tim being old enough to be her father.

He was just about to pull back and go search another wing, when he heard an all too familiar voice.

"Excuse me, sir."

Terry quickly looked in the nearest window and saw a nurse push past Tim, her stern face pursed with determination.

"Voice."

He followed her, running along the outside ledge, occasionally peeking into a window to make sure he hadn't lost her. He nearly ran past the window in his haste to keep up with Voice, but a resounding crash and another, this time pleasantly, familiar voice, shrieked, "Stay the hell away from me, you psycho witch!"

Already smiling, Terry looked into the window and saw a sight too wonderful to behold. Maxine, her pink hair vibrant in the harsh fluorescent light, was standing on her bed, a bedpan clenched in one fist, the other shaking at a trio of nurses, one of whom was Nurse Voice.

"Now, Miss Dexter…"

"Gibson! Frigging Gibson, you deaf old crone!"

Nurse Voice had a large syringe in her hand and was about to speak, when something big and black broke the window and flew into the room. They may not live in Gotham, but all three nurses recognised Batman, and their jaws dropped.

"Why does this seem so familiar?"

Max shrieked, this time for joy, "What the hell took you so long?"

Von Stahl reacted instantly, shoved one of the large male nurses at Batman and belted down the passage as if the hounds of hell were after her. Technically, just one was.

Batman side-stepped the male nurse, and sent him to the floor with an elbow to the back of his head, while Max soundly clonked the other nurse with the bedpan and soon both were running after von Stahl.

"You ok?"

"Hell, no. That cow is … I'm going to shove a needle so far up her ass…"

Terry just laughed and ran faster. He soon outpaced Max, who cursed him royally, before she ducked down a different staircase, letting Batman tail the disappearing nurse.

Voice had a fast set of legs on her but not fast enough. She began pulling trolleys and gurneys over, to spoil his path behind her, and an unlucky blow to his shoulder had Terry stumbling. He contemplated using his jets but the lack of room, and close proximity of oxygen tanks forestalled that. He ran past a startled Tim, who belatedly joined the chase, but von Stahl had created enough of a gap to race down the front stairs, leap into a waiting ambulance and scream off with a squeal of tyres, the back doors of the ambulance still open.

Two stunned Paramedics and a patient stared at the disappearing vehicle, only to see Batman fly through the front doors, seconds later. The Dark Knight of Gotham cursed, and was about to run towards the parking lot, when a flash looking convertible with a pink haired girl at the wheel, pulled up and yelled, "Get in."

Strangely enough Batman did and the pair raced off after the ambulance. The paramedics shared a mutual look of amazement and when Tim arrived, slightly out of breath, they could only stare when he cursed too.

"Damn."

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In what was becoming his trademark entrance into the cave, Matt braked sharply and skidded to a sudden stop, leaving a nice trail of tyre marks over the floor. He scrambled off the bike and raced into the costume alcove.

"Shit!"

The costume was gone, of course.

Matt searched frantically through the various displays, cupboards and drawers, hoping that maybe Terry had just hidden it and hadn't taken it with him. After all, his brother was far from fit enough to try trounce bad guys yet. Right?

No luck.

The costume was either too well hidden for him, or Terry had it.

"Shit!"

For a very brief moment, Matt contemplated the old Robin costumes and wondered if he could pull it off. Snorting, he dismissed that notion. He definitely needed the new Batsuit, without its strength he was just a weakling twip.

Maybe…

The enormous Bat Logo was the current screensaver on the computer and Matt hurriedly accessed the computer, hoping that Terry hadn't locked him out. Fortunately, the main computer interface soon loaded and before it even greeted him, Matt demanded, "Are there any other Batsuits in the Cave?"

'There are two suits in the historical display, as well as the prototype armoured suit.'

"The prototype, lets see that one."

A light flickered on over a huge armoured suit and Matt's heart sank. It looked more like the old Batman's suit and not his one. He didn't have time to learn to use that huge monstrosity.

"Ah, how about a spare Batsuit, like the one currently in use?"

'Negative.'

"Nothing? No spare, nothing at the dry cleaners or.."

'Negative.'

Matt ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. A huge Dinobot was tearing up Gotham and he had no suit! There was no way in hell he was calling Terry. Besides, by the time he got back, it'd be too late.

"What about for emergencies? Like the other suit is damaged and Batman still has to go out and kick butt?"

'Do you wish to declare an emergency?'

Matt thought about that for a moment. Knowing Bruce Wayne, activating emergency procedures would involve locking the cave down and alerting the JLU. "Ah, no – not really. But it is very important. Gotham's kinda got…"

'Please state the nature of the threat to Gotham.'

Matt's eyebrows climbed into his hairline and he waved his arms at the computer, yelling, "A frigging huge Dinosaur Robot is doing a Godzilla on downtown Gotham!"

'Verifying.'

"Verifying? You don't believe me!"

The computer called up several news channels and broken amateur footage of the Dinobot soon played out on the screen. A harried looking reporter was screaming over the noise of the robot walking right through Gotham PD's roadblock, trying to say "It seems to be heading towards Gotham Plaza now. It keeps repeating a message over loudspeakers. 'Round two, Batman. Its time for round two.' "

"Round two? Terry has faced this guy before? I don't remember a frigging dinosaur robot!"

The computer however had obviously decided that this qualified as an emergency situation and said calmly, 'Situation classed as a priority 3. Back up suit initiated.'

"Yes!"

Matt spun around to see a wall in the alcove open, revealing another Batsuit.

"Now that? That is schway!"

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Alan Torres, hidden deep inside the control centre of his Dinosaur Robot (patent pending), controlled the progress of his creation with glee, happily crushing another police car.

"Forget about me, will you? Not this time!"

He activated the loudspeakers again and screamed, "Where the hell are you, Batman? Too scared to face me again?"

As much as he wanted to pummel the Bat, he was glad that he'd had time to pummel Gotham a little bit first. He was nearly at the Metropolitan Museum and he fully intended on walking right through that exhibit and obliterating it. They'd never forget him again.

He rotated the robots 'eye' cameras and caught sight of the Batmobile hurtling towards him.

"Finally!"

The Batmobile screamed past him and he narrowly missed it. It disappeared behind a building and he turned on the infra-red and thermal vision and noted that the car was making a wide loop around several buildings and would be coming at him from the north.

Chuckling, Torres warmed up the lasers and as the car speed past him again, he targeted it and red laser streaked after it. He missed, the car easily outpacing the laser, but he didn't mind. He wanted this battle to be epic, to shake the very foundations of Gotham.

The car made a few more near passes, and Torres happily shot at it, finally shouting over the loudspeakers," Come on, Batchicken! Feel the might of Mega Dino!"

Gotham PD chose at that point to arrive with more armoured cars and armaments and opened fire on him. The rain of ordinance bounced off his super-shell armour and a rocket speed past his Dino's head, smashing into the building behind him.

"Ha. HA! Bring it on! Dinobot will crush you!"

"I thought you were Mega Dino?"

The voice was nearby, the audio sensors in the dino head picking up the sound, indicating the speaker was close. Very close.

"What, who is that?"

A shell from the GCPD landed squarely on Mega Dino/Dinobot's chest and shook the control room.

"Hey, guys! Do you mind? Trying to work here."

The voice was followed by the sudden destruction of the right camera eye. The left soon followed. Cursing, Torres activated the secondary cameras around the robot, which gave him a 360 degree view. He noted that the GCPD had stopped firing and seemed to be organising another road block. It was then that he realised the Batmobile was nowhere in sight.

"Batman!"

"Yes?"

The sensors on the right side picked up the voice and he scanned the cameras, trying to spot his nemesis.

"Show yourself, coward. You're not getting out of a fight that easily!"

The lasers were no longer functioning, but he could still do a lot of damage. He grabbed the controls and Dinobot pulled a lamppost up and began waving it around in the air. "Round two is underway. Dino Boy vs Batman!"

"What's with the name changes? Are there more than one of you inside this tin can?"

"Show yourself!"

He swivelled the robot comically, trying to catch a glimpse of his elusive foe.

"And sorry to say, Dino chap, but I personally don't remember fighting you before – ever."

"ARGH!" Torres screech was one of both frustration and anger. He slammed the lamppost onto a hapless car and yelled incoherently through the speakers, "Robo Dino practically crushed you last time. You barely escaped! I brought Gotham to its knees!"

"Yeah? You sure? Cos, I'm drawing a blank."

Torres nearly missed the brief flicker of movement near the camera at the right knee joint, but even as he tried the infra-red again, it was too late. A small detonation at the knee joint rocked the robot. Warning lights began to glow in the control room and when he tried to move forward, the joint groaned and stuttered. Fearing that he might topple if he tried to move, Torres screamed into the speakers, "Show yourself! Bot Rex will destroy you!"

"Who?"

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"Pull over, Max!"

"No way, Bat Boy. She's mine."

"Max!"

"Shut up, Terry!"

Chasing down suspects was an every day occurrence for Terry, but he was usually the one in control and Max's driving? Well, she was certainly fast, and let's just leave it at that.

He gripped the door handle and tried not to flinch too much at her swerves and near misses and instead studied his best friend. She seemed ok, no visible injuries, other than being a little pale and thin.

"You ok?"

Max grinned at him, like the mad woman she was, and laughed, "I am now. Damn, Terry! What took you so long?"

He was suddenly pushed into the far right of the seat as she turned, trying to keep on von Stahl's tail. Once they were horizontal again, he laughed too, "Max, you're not the only one dying to stick that woman with something."

"What?"

"Max!" She looked back to see an approaching truck and pulled the car into a sharp left, the underside of the car brushing along the truck. The ambulance was still in sight, and Max was gaining.

"You keep your eyes on the road and I'll tell you about it later, ok?"

Her grin was megawatt in brightness and she floored the accelerator.

"Max!"

The convertible was rapidly reaching speeds dangerous in a suburban area and when the ambulance turned into San Francisco proper, with its typical city traffic, things definitely got hairy. With the lights and sirens blaring, cars made way for the ambulance, but were a lot less inclined to do so for them. Max had to slow and do a lot of creative manoeuvring, and while the sight of Batman in the car got a lot of stares, it also meant people didn't move nearly fast enough out of their way.

"Move!"

Max had come to a jarringly holt, inches form a truck and was now shouting at a large delivery van, which was hovering at a second floor delivery entrance and its driver seemed determined to ignore her. Batman leant out of the window and noticed that the ambulance had ducked left at the next traffic light. Max was boxed in, with the truck in front of her and bumper to bumper traffic below, alongside and above.

"Damn!"

"I'll fly from here."

Terry jetted off, hoping to hell that he'd be able to catch up with von Stahl again. He flew around the corner and came to a heart-stopping halt. The reason for the traffic was abundantly clear. A massive accident had taken place and the amount of cops and ambulances in the road and air was staggering. Certain that she would have used this perfect cover, he put on the camo and flew over the crowds, trying to spot her. After ten minutes of fruitless searching, he gave up and flew back to Max. She was impatiently thumping the steering wheel. His sudden appearance startled her and she smacked his chest as he climbed in.

"You lost her, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Huge pile up around the corner. About 20 ambulances and paramedics. She's long gone."

"Damn!"

The pair of them sat dejected in the car, the delivery truck driver staring at them, his mouth open. Max pulled herself together and sighed, "So, what now. Back to the clinic?"

"Yeah. Maybe they'll know something about Bruce."

"Bruce?"

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Matt let out a small chuckle at the outraged cries from the guy inside the robot. So far his plan was working smoothly and any and all damage could quite squarely be placed at whatever his name was's feet.

"Having fun, McGinnis?"

"Arh!"

He nearly lost his seat on Dino Boy's back, and clutched tightly to the handy rivets. The voice had come through the comlink in the suit and it was a voice he really didn't want to hear.

"Commissioner?"

"No other. Where are you?"

"Ah, safely tucked in my bed, watching Batman handle … dino dude?"

A long-suffering sigh, fraught with 'don't try me, boy' came through the link and Commissioner Gordon said sharply, "I know that Terry is in San Francisco. The only other idiot in Gotham is you."

Matt smiled, pleased as punch that his suit still had camouflage options, and said, "Oh, come on, Commish, there are plenty of idiots in Gotham. Why just take Dick in school…"

"McGinnis!"

"Batman, I will crush you!"

Dinobot was flailing its lamppost around in the air, trying to smash an invisible Batman. "Ah, gotta go, Commish, my mom.. she's…"

"Knock it off! Look, try find a hatch or something and just get inside and stop that idiot."

"Do you remember him?"

Another sigh and Barbara Gordon shrugged, safely situated behind an army of patrol cars and sighed, "Not really. Maybe Bruce would. He remembers every lunatic to grace Gotham."

"Yeah, but a giant Dinosaur?"

"Get going."

"Yes, boss."

Matt slid a little down the robot, searching for a hatch or some indication on where the little loon inside was sitting. A close brush from the lamppost as it swept around in the air, trying to find him, had Matt scrambling up again. Right, maybe he should take care of that first.

"BATMAN!"

"No need to yell, still here."

Torres pounded his fists on the controls, making the robot jiggle a little and shouted, "Show yourself!"

"Why?"

Spittle flecked the screens in front of him, as he screamed, red veins bulging in his forehead, "Because you have to fight fair!"

"I do?" Matt silently slid down Dino's arm, hoping that if he kept the guy talking, he'd stand still long enough for him to … there. A small bat-shaped explosive on the elbow joint and Matt was scrambling to the other side.

"YES! Otherwise… otherwise… you just have to!"

Shaking his head, Matt muttered aloud, "What, are you two or something? I'm not facing some twip genius toddler am I?"

"Toddler? Why you…"

It was then that the explosive detonated and a mini shock wave rippled through the robot. Matt nearly lost his grip and exclaimed, "Oops, wrong charge." He clutched tightly to the over large spike he was holding onto and landed heavily against the metal skin. Torres heard the belated 'clang' over his alarms and instead of screaming in annoyance, keyed up the cameras in that area. He got a camera eye full Bat insignia.

"Gotcha!"

The first indication Matt had that his camouflage was off, was when the remaining robot arm swept back and grabbed him.

"Woahhhh…"

Dino-thing gave him a shake and the little man inside yelled, "Nobody messes with Godzillabot!"

Matt rolled his eyes, and said, "Pick a name already! No wonder no one remembers you, dreg! They'd have to remember a dozen different idiotic names."

The Dinosaur froze, its blinded gaze glaring two empty sockets at him.

"Which one should I pick?" the voice was tight with anger and Matt felt the large dino claws around him, tighten.

"What?" The claws squeezed even more and Matt quickly said, "Ah… Dino Boy is too wimpy, but Dinobot was kinda cool."

"Schway cool?"

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Matt wondered if Terry or Bruce ever had to deal with dregs like this. "Not so schway… but ok."

"You said, cool."

"Ok then, cool."

"Give up?"

"Huh?"

Dinobot squeezed and Matt reckoned that without the suit, he'd have some serious internal bruising right about now.

"Do you surrender?"

"Hell, no!"

Fortunately for Dinobot, it couldn't look surprised, but it sure sounded it. "But I won! You're my prisoner!"

Matt glanced around, and saw that the GCPD had used their distraction to surround Dinobot and a couple of SWAT guys were up on a ladder, hacking into the Dino's butt – presumably where the control room was.

"Say it! Say you surrender!"

The Bot sounded desperate. He could probably hear the SWAT guys and it seemed that the last explosion had knocked out the entire right section of the robot.

"Admit it! I beat you!"

Matt shrugged and before he could come up with any snappy retort, the SWAT guys broke through and their cries of 'Hands in the Air!' and 'GCPD! Freeze!' flowed from the speakers, followed by Dinobot's voice crying, "No! Say it!"

"You're out of your tree?"

The sounds of a small scuffle ensued but SWAT soon emerged with an old gentlemen handcuffed between them.

Matt snorted and continued to try and free himself. The claws had locked in their tight hold and he couldn't budge. "Guess he wasn't two afterall. Damn this is tight."

Now that Dinobot was silent, and free of its master, the area was swarming with cops, and emergency crews. Matt watched the swirling crowd, and briefly spotted Commissioner Gordon arguing with a hefty policeman. Unable to stop himself, he tried to find Officer Delaney in the crowd, but as curious civilians were now adding to the confusion it was nigh impossible. Was that a blond ponytail?

After a good five minutes and no one paying him the slightest bit of attention, not even trying to arrest him. Matt called down, "Hey, little help here?"

Nothing.

"Great. Just great."

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Max and Tim were both shouting at the Clinic Administrator. The poor man looked quite shell shocked, especially when their volume increased as he told them there was no one matching Bruce's description at the clinic.

Nurse von Stahl's records were clutched in Max's fists and she seemed happy to crunch even that small portion of the woman. A small bevy of nurses were gathered behind the Clinic Administrator, probably hoping to save him from bodily harm, but none of them seemed inclined to step in and stop the tirade.

Terry, back in plain clothes, with the suit hidden beneath, stood to one side and let the pair vent. He glanced down the corridor and ambled off, hoping against reason that maybe someone would know… something. He asked a few nurses about von Stahl, vaguely glad that he finally knew the woman's name, but it seemed she was a tad secretive and very unpopular. No surprise there.

The clinic was still abuzz with the news of Batman attacking its staff, and Terry passed through unnoticed. What were they to do now? Return to Gotham and try trace von Stahl? Stay in San Francisco and check all the other hospitals and clinics? The fact that Fake Bruce has stashed both himself and Max in Frisco was a good sign. Maybe Bruce was somewhere here too?

If Terry had his way, they wouldn't go back to Gotham. Not yet. The city, the Batcave, especially the Batcave felt 'off' without Bruce's looming presence. His cell phone started ringing and Terry fumbled for it and noticing the caller ID, answered quickly.

"Commissioner?"

Groaning, Terry covered his eyes and shook his head.

"Please tell me Matt didn't…"

Still shaking his head, Terry started to pace and exclaimed, "He did what?"

He stopped by a closed door, its small window obscured by heavy glass and bars. "Well, that's great Commissioner. Because Batman was seen in San Francisco not 15 minutes ago. If anyone picks up on that…"

Terry heard a thump from the other side of the door and almost ignored it, except that it sounded like something or someone falling. Studying the door and noting the lock, Terry muttered in reply, "Did you ream him out?"

Prompted by something, some instinct, Terry tried the lock and the door swung open. The room was brightly light, a steady stream of late afternoon sun filling the room. A spartan-looking hospital bed and chair were the sole furniture, and seated in the chair, staring out the window, was…

"Bruce?"

Barbara's tiny query of 'Bruce?' was ignored and Terry stepped further into the room.

"Bruce?"

Slowly, the old man turned and Terry saw that he was bound to the chair and that a fallen cane was at his feet. Bright, indomitable eyes meet his own.

"What took you so long, McGinnis."

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Fin.

Nftw: I can't believe I let a month get the better of me, so sorry! I had a huge internal debate about Mat finding the suit or not and well, going to the beach didn't help any : )

That's it folks, hoped you enjoyed. Please review and let me know. Oh and please continue to the Epilogue.


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue:

Our scene unfolds in Gotham City, home of the largest collection of weirdoes and lunatics, according to Travel Planet. That helpful guide strongly advised travelling in groups if you insist on visiting Gotham. The unwary tourist could quite literally end up being eaten alive.

We move to a much frequented alley in Gotham's seedier business district. Jokerz, the plague of Gotham loved using this alley to spring nasty surprises on unwary passer-bys. For the pack of Jokerz currently in residence, a nasty surprise had just arrived for them.

"You Tiny Tiny?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I do."

Batman swooped out of the shadows, a black figure against the growing twilight and the Jokerz scrambled. Tiny Tiny, however, looked around for a weapon.

The fight was short, sweet and very ugly – for Tiny Tiny. None of his mates stuck around to help, using Batman's distraction to good advantage.

Soon, Tiny Tiny was swinging upside down from a neon sigh, wrapped in what may have been rope and was actually wire, groaning.

Terry patted him on the face and said, "Shoulda stuck with the circus, Big Lumpy. Woulda made great lion fodder."

Tiny Tiny groaned and passed out.

Batman dusted himself off and muttered, "Bertoleni sends you his best."

He turned around and was about to jet up to roof when an unexpected presence at the alley mouth stopped him. Momentarily pausing and preparing for a fight, the figure slowly resolved into the silhouette of a lady cop. Surprised, he straightened and she moved forward into the light and said, "Still mixing with the dregs of society, I see."

"Officer Delaney."

"Batman."

"Long time."

"Not long enough."

Matt, on Batcave duty, was returning from the kitchen with coffee, looked up at the screen and just about scalded himself in fright and exclaimed, "Holy crap, no!"

"Huh?"

"I don't know how you usually operate, Batboy, but I for one, don't plan on taking it lying down." Officer Delaney closed the space between then and Terry backed up.

"Huh?"

Matt, hunched over the console, covered his eyes, "NO! Slag no… nonnono…"

"I mean, I figure most women throw themselves at you given half a chance and you're a man, so you … don't … ah… gift horses and all, but I … us… I … hell, you've apparently got some hooker uptown pregnant which I'm half inclined to believe… but a hooker? And … what, wasn't I good enough for you? Too clean? Too normal?"

"What?" Terry had the distinct feeling that he had better keep backing up, and when Delaney prodded him with her finger, he did just that.

"Oh, I am so dead, Terry is going to kill me and Mom… will help him…" Matt scanned the Batcave, desperately hoping that no one else was around to see this.

"The flowers were a nice touch, for a pre-pub dork, but one kiss and you're breaking up with me?" Her face was inches from his now, her cheeks flushed with anger.

"Kiss?" Terry stammered.

"ARGH!" Matt was dancing on the spot, his cries muffled by his hands clasped over his mouth.

"You must be delusional, wait, look who I'm talking to, OK no… more delusional than most people give you credit for if you think one kiss and a couple of … liaisons.."

"Liaisons?" Terry gulped and Officer Delaney got even redder and yelled,

"Midnight chats! CHATS! Do chats constitute a relationship? No! And then I'm over… done.. ticked off your naughty list! Not good enough to screw or even a one night stand or… anything… and one kiss and its over. You're done playing Mr Nice Bat and I'm the laughing stock of the precinct!"

"Wait, I?" Dealing with irate girlfriends was one thing, but Delaney was armed and Terry was confused.

Matt however, was making plans. "Shit, shit… gotta… do… Computer, search for available flights to … ah… Alaska? Nah, ah…too close… Antarctica… Terry hates the snow… shit.. NO!"

'Slap!'

Delaney shook her aching hand at him and shot him her best death glare, "No, no more waiting, Ratman. Tall dark and mysterious, maybe – but definitely a jackass through and through."

"Officer…" Terry tried to keep the anger from his voice, tried to sound concerned. Man, his face hurt.

"Don't! Just don't!" Officer Delaney gave him one final glare and stalked off, muttering under her breath. Stunned, Terry foolishly stammered, "I.."

She spun back and growled, "Fisher was right about you and I was a fool for being … well… hell, you weren't even man enough to end it like a… man, I suppose, or in your case, a frigging Crazy Person. Sending some dumbass kid with flowers… Oh Officer, Officer some "Knight" told me …Well you know what – that damn kiss wasn't even worth it – like being slimed by a slug with a cold! Jerk!"

The last insult was shouted from around the corner. She had stomped off, her voice slowly fading as she hit the street. But both Terry and Matt heard her.

"Dumbass kid?"

"A slug?"

Both McGinnises stared at the alley mouth, Matt via Terry's visor. A few seconds of silence and then Terry said, "Matt? Matt?"

Silence…

"You are so dead, Twip."

Fin


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